Operation Orange
by Project Clu-Clu
Summary: It's been two years since Empress Nunnally vi Britannia ascended to the throne. Hidden from the world, Lelouch peacefully lives on an orange plantation. But what will happen when news arrives, announcing that his beloved younger sister wishes to visit Sayoko, Jeremiah, and Anya at the very same farm?
1. Anya's Engima

Chapter One

From her hidden, secluded nook, a petite, young woman sat in the cool shadows of the tree she was in, safely shielded from the glaring sun and prying eyes. Her own irises, the same hue as ripe raspberries in color, carefully followed the source of the cacophonous bickering resounding throughout the farm she lived on.

The 17 year old girl wondered what it was that sparked such violent verbal eruptions. It occurred on a daily basis; ever since _they_ had arrived at the wooden gates of the estate, there had never once been a single day that passed without them quarreling. Did the two hate each other? But if they did, why did they just not part ways? Or perhaps they simply enjoyed fighting. But why would they enjoy insulting each other? What was making them-

"Anya, what are you doing up there? You'll get hurt. Please come down."

She tore her curious scrutiny from the people who so graciously (and rather unintentionally) bestowed her with so much to wonder about, to her (unofficial) foster mother. Sayoko smiled kindly up at her and added, "It's nearly lunchtime. You must be hungry after working so hard all morning. Why don't you come down, and we can go eat lunch?"

She merely shrugged her shoulders before sliding off of the thick branch of the sturdy orange tree she had been neatly perched upon. Her mother inhaled sharply, as she witnessed her small daughter fall from such a great height. When Anya rose and dusted off her overalls, the former maid gently scolded, "You shouldn't do that, dear. Your father nearly uprooted the entire plantation the last time he saw you do something like that. You should keep him more in mind… And only do it when he's not watching."

She winked, and the girl with the rose-colored ponytail smiled, appreciative of her mother's humor and forgiving nature.

"Well, we better hurry along, or all of the ice in the pitchers will melt. And we wouldn't want watery iced tea, would we? Master Lelouch would become apoplectic."

An ephemeral, tinkling laugh escaped Anya's lips, as she giggled over the thought of the raven-haired man's usually composed face turning from its normal shade of pale to a furious red before his head exploded (much like the cartoons she had recently discovered on television).

As mother and daughter walked briskly through the organized and well-tended rows of orange trees, she couldn't help but notice Sayoko looking every which way with worried eyes every few steps or so, as if searching for a needle in a haystack.

"… Anya dear?"

"Yes?" she quietly replied. Her mother, still searching for something (or maybe it was someone), questioned, "… Have you seen your father anywhere? I tried searching for him, but the farm's grown to be so large under Master Lelouch's guidance that I just can't seem to- Ah, there he is."

The pair stopped in their tracks as they stared at the horizon, where they could see birds screeching and taking to the air in a frenzy, panicked into flying high above the emerald tree tops.

"That certainly is your father. Always making quite the entrance. Let's hurry along, Anya, so that we can all take a moment to breathe before your dear father arrives."

. . .

"Jeremiah Gottwald has returned, having fulfilled my assigned task of delivering the weekly quota of orange juice to the village."

"Welcome home," smiled Sayoko. She took her husband's wide-brimmed straw hat as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink and immediately asked upon the whereabouts of his beloved Master Lelouch.

"Master Lelouch is currently in plot A. There was an issue with the irrigation system, and… Oh my…"

The small family heard the undeniable sound of squelching, repeatedly and rhythmically, almost as if someone caked in mud were making their way towards the house.

And that they were.

Lelouch vi Britannia, formerly crowned as the 99th Emperor of the Holy Empire of Britannia, dejectedly, and rather angrily, stormed towards the charming two-story cottage that he had helped paint a nice four coats of pure, innocent whitewash. C2 trailed behind him, the skirt of her dress swishing with her every step. She was obviously trying (and pathetically failing) to conceal her smug smirk and satisfied giggles.

Jeremiah, horrified by the disgraceful appearance his customarily elegant, well-dressed, and _clean_ master had been magicked into, froze. Closing his mouth with some difficulty, he, overwhelmed with distress, stumbled over his words.

"M-master… Master Lelouch, w-what-"

"I don't wish to discuss how I ended up in this disgusting state, Jeremiah, so I will turn a deaf ear upon any inquiries you may harbor."

And with that, the former 99th Emperor of Britannia marched by the family and their home, to the clear, _cleansing_ river behind the building in all of his muddy glory.

. . .

Lelouch was beyond angry. Vehement fury was coursing through his veins, directed towards various people and things. He was fuming from his short sightedness and overestimation of the situation, which was partially responsible for the embarrassing mess he had made of himself, he was seething at the witch, for simply sitting in that goddamn orange tree and just watching him with that infuriating sneer of superiority, the witch that he just sometimes wanted to tie to a stake and start a bonfire, just to see if she really were a sorceress. Because the only rational reason and way she was able to get on his nerves with the speed and ease she did could only be explained with magic.

Tearing off his straw hat, he stood at the bank of the silvery stream, assessing the situation. Should he remove his clothes and go into the river? Or should he just wade in and rinse off the surface mud? Or perhaps it would be best if he-

He gasped as he felt a rough shove. As his face came closer to the cold water than he was prepared for, he internally cursed at the woman's insatiable need to torment him.

Accidentally swallowing water, he surfaced with an unbecoming sputter and cough. His dress shirt and pants stuck to his wiry frame as he involuntarily shivered from the surprisingly frigid temperature of the rushing brook. His feet thankfully touching the bottom with the help of his tall height, the Britannian wiped water and his clingy hair away from his eyes before shouting towards the bane of his existence.

"What the hell was that for, witch?"

"You were acting like a girl, Lelouch. Too afraid to go in, fearful of what would happen to your clothes, frightened by-"

She reflexively let out a high-pitched shriek as his hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her ankle. With strength earned from performing manual labor on a farm for over two years, the raven-haired man pulled the self-satisfied immortal in with him. Smirking at the way karma had (sort of) bit back, the wave of anger roiling within him settled, pleased by his revenge, as petty as it was.

But what happened next, even Lelouch, with his highly intellectual and cunning mind, couldn't have predicted.

C2, her dress dreadfully weighing her down, continued to sink to the bottom of the river. Her fingers reached to undo the knots and buttons of her dress and accessories, but her fingers were already too clumsy with cold to properly undo them. She could feel her heart racing, and a voice, _her_ voice, telling her to calm down. That screaming, although an instinct, wouldn't help her escape from her deadly situation.

Golden irises glanced up at the surface, the watery sun shimmering brilliantly, as her chest felt like bursting from the lack of irreplaceable oxygen. Her vision began to darken, and she wryly thought, 'At least it won't be the first time dying like this…'

Suddenly, nearly unconsciously, as she had but the weakest of grasps on life, she could feel something tighten around her wrist and then the strangest sensation of… Of being pulled up?

C2 coughed, heaving the water out of her lungs. Gasping for breath, she closed her eyes and heavily leaned on her savior's chest, focusing on the erratic beating of the warlock's heart, as he waded to the bank, the witch shaking in his arms. Memories of past drownings from accusations of witchcraft flooded her, and despite the blistering summer heat, she trembled.

He gently set her down on the soft, warm grass, her golden eyes fluttered from the abrupt onslaught of brightness. She cringed, pain shooting behind her eyelids, when she found reprieve as a large and familiar straw hat blocked the sun's strong summer rays from her face.

She turned her head to confirm that the boy was, in fact, holding his hat for her, to protect her. The immortal searched her partner's face for the reason for such a sudden act of kindness towards her, especially since she had been the cause of the entire fiasco in the first place; some mockery, some anger, irritation, contempt, _something_. But nothing.

She had forgotten how well he could veil his emotions. At times, though exceptionally rare, even from her.

"It seems that you're disappointingly not a witch, as you sunk to the bottom of the river," he finally broke the unbearably awkward silence (it was awkward for _him_; probably not her though).

"That's where you're wrong. I survived the drowning," she said, weakly smiling. He stare at her, studying her, looking for any signs of emotional torment inspired by the incident, and she in turn was granted an excuse to scrutinize his face.

He truly was handsome. If anything, she had to give him that. The boy possessed a face that belonged on television screens besides other celebrities and the glossy covers of global magazines. Not one that deserved to be hidden on a farm in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps, she mused, when enough time has passed and Lelouch vi Britannia the Demon Emperor was forgotten, perhaps he'd be interested in the modeling business. He would do well, she decided, with his high cheekbones, tall nose, glimmering amethyst eyes and contrasting raven locks. In fact, with his height and slim build, combined with a face that had so much feminine beauty (was that a good thing or a bad thing?) that the boy could easily pass off as a woman (in fact, that's what he had had to do during the journey from his mausoleum to Jeremiah's farm), he would swiftly rise to fame. And this time, he would (hopefully) _keep_ the love and adoration earned by his work.

"… Are you alright?" he cautiously inquired. C2's lips had lost their usual rosy color, and he couldn't help but notice the way she was shivering, despite the fact that her clothes were nearly dry (with the help of the summer heat). Concern for her drew his brows together and his lips to curl downwards; he had never asked, but could immortals fall ill? Just because they couldn't die didn't mean they couldn't catch a cold or influenza… Could it?

"Worried over me, boy? How cute," she managed to say. Lelouch relaxed slightly, some tension leaving him, his worst suspicions dissipated. So C2 hadn't locked herself in her head again, deserting him. For a moment, he had nearly thought… He had nearly thought that he was alone, that the witch had been replaced by the slave girl; fear stole his breath away at the remembrance of how dark and heavy it felt to be truly alone, to be wholly and totally understood by no one. Memories of his temporary loss of her overcoming him, he reached out to gently brush her hair away from her eyes, so as to better look into them, when he remembered who he was and who this woman was.

They were merely partners. Equals. Accomplices, confidantes in some cases, rivals in others, friends at the most intimate, but never… _Never_, no matter how much the desire burned in the darkest corner of his heart that he had cowardly shoved into, they had never been, they weren't, and would most likely never be…. Never be… Never be _what_? What was it that he wanted to be to her? What did he want her to be to him? What was it?

No matter how much time he mulled over the enigma, no matter how many times he had searched through a goddamn _dictionary_ to find the right word, no matter how often he paced, frowned, and contemplated over the riddle, the solution refused to reveal itself.

But he was certain of one thing, and that was that the witch had, in no way, the same issue he was facing. And he, as her accomplice, partner, equal, and actual _friend_, respected her for that. There was no need to immaturely press the distressing matter on her.

And so, Lelouch drew his hand back as if he had been burned by the Sun itself. With a strange smile that even _she _couldn't quite make heads or tails of, he gently placed his hat on her chest in an attempt to decently cover part of her body (which had been exposed by her spontaneous dip in the brook and the fact that the dress turned see-through when wet), and climbed out of the river. Without even so much as a backwards glance, the warlock briskly walked away (or was it ran away?) from the witch, who trailed after him, not in body, but with the curiosity ablaze in her eyes.

When he had strode into the recesses of the cottage and slammed the door behind him rather forcefully, as if he were trying to drown out the intolerable sounds of complex truths and muddled thoughts, she sighed.

"Foolish boy. I didn't even thank you."

. . .

"C-" Sayoko and Jeremiah immediately rose from their seats again as they saw the drenched woman walk in with a… With an expression that could only be described with the word, 'queer'. Just like their master's face had been when he had stepped inside, only to return to the outside on the other side of the house. Concerned over her well-being, Sayoko made to find out what was bothering her so much, when the woman in question sighed, "I won't be eating lunch today."

"… Shall I at least bring you a slice of pizza?" the Japanese woman queried.

"… No. It's fine."

An awkward silence ensued, as the family wondered what to say to the emerald-haired woman. She was obviously in turmoil, but if she didn't wish to discuss it with them, then they had no right to probe into her business. All the same… They worried. What had happened in the back? They had seen her follow after Lelouch once she had regained her composure and had giggled all she wanted, and then heard a splash, promptly followed by another, but then nothing more. Despite their constant quarreling and daily disagreements, C2 and Lelouch were never… Were never like _this_, never so… Never so estranged from each other. It weighed on Sayoko and Jeremiah heavily; they liked to see the immortal man and woman as their responsibilities, if not an extension of their family. Seeing how the pair, that had been nearly inseparable even _during_ one of their rows, had fallen apart like this was clearly something that had to be investigated for the good of the two and their deteriorating relationship. Even if it meant breaching their privacy. Even if it meant risking rousing the ire of the witch and the warlock.

Even then.

And so, as soon as they heard the door to C2's bedroom close heavily, as if she had leaned on it and slowly slid to the floor, the married couple conferenced together.

"What do you think happened, Jeremiah?"

His wife sat down, her brow creased as her mind worked to invent a plausible explanation. Her spouse, refusing to be still with a tense situation such as this before them, paced around the neatly set table, which had yet to be touched.

"I believe C2 and Master Lelouch had an argument," eventually concluded he.

"But it's not as if it's the first time. Even in the palace, they would often-"

"This one wasn't of words. It was of something… Something more delicate. More fragile. More easier to misunderstand."

"Are you saying that they're arguing with their emotions?" Baffled chocolate brown eyes looked up at the half-cyborg, who finally took a seat.

"… Not exactly. But the more important thing is that Master Lelouch, while also 'arguing' with C2, is also fighting with himself. As is C2."

"… How do you propose we fix this?"

"Well, there are several paths we could take."

"We should take the one that requires the least amount of tampering. It would be best if Master Lelouch and Miss C2 were to resolve it on their own, within their own terms and means."

Her husband nodded in agreement, and the two adults sat in silence, their minds churning to create the perfect solution for the less-than-perfect state the witch and the warlock's relationship was in, when the former maid questioned, "Where's Anya?"

. . .

Lelouch slumped against a large bale of musty, golden hay. Behind him proudly stood an enormous wall of packaged grass that he and Jeremiah had worked to organize all throughout the summer. They were nearly completed and ready for the autumn, which, he now realized, wasn't that too far away in the future.

Brooding, he rose from his seat atop the small mound of hay left and tread over the wooden floorboards repeatedly, his steps providing him company with an incessant squelching sound. When his anguish, blended with impatience with himself and frustration as to why he couldn't be able to answer any of the questions swirling in his head, climaxed, the raven-haired man seemed to lose all control on his temper. Without even thinking of the consequences, he swung his foot, the tip coming in contact with a crimson bucket.

The metallic clanging of the impact echoed throughout the enormous barn until it was muffled by the hay. He watched as it neatly arced through the beautifully clear blue sky, right before…

Right before Anya Alstreim-Gottwald, the former Knight of Six, caught it.

"Orange isn't going to like you kicking his buckets," she remarked. Ignoring his surprised expression, she otherwise silently walked into the quiet shade of the vast wooden structure.

"What is it that you want, Anya?" he queried tiredly. He had nothing against the young girl; in fact, he found her endearing at times, as she sometimes reminded him of his dear younger sister.

"Lelouch."

"Yes?"

She stepped closer to him, and he realized how much she had grown from her days as a Knight of Rounds and ultimately, his enemy. Her scarlet tattoo gleamed softly as she tilted her head to look up at him. Her piercing cerise irises peered at him, for so long that he was about to ask if there was something the matter, when she finally spoke for the fourth time.

"I've watched you for a long time. For three years, two of which have been on this farm."

He kept his silence, wordlessly urging her to continue voicing whatever was on her mind that caused for her to eye him so strangely.

"… And all throughout those two years, I've been trying to figure something out. And I can't. So I want you to tell me the answer."

"What is it?"

"Do you like C2?"

He quickly tamped down his surprise, although it was only until some time had passed when he replied, "… She was always the one who was by my side and understood everything. Accepted everything. Accepted _me_."

"Then do you love her, Lelouch?"

His amethyst irises, which had been wandering about on the landscape behind the younger girl, snapped to her, shock clearly written on his face. Anya, stoic, merely pressed on.

"Do you love C2?"

**A/N: Reviews are much appreciated. Thank you very much!**


	2. Praying for Patience

**A/N: Wow, thanks everyone for favoriting and/or following this fanfiction. I hope you guys like the second chapter as much as you liked the first! (I apologize for any errors in conventions; it was the first day of a new semester, and I'm dog tired).**

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

Chapter Two

"Oh, do you think he'll be alright?"

Nunnally blinked into a pair of particularly wide, anxious, and very innocent, ruby eyes before gently smiling in reassurance and replying, "Of course. You said so yourself; Xingke is the strongest and most loyal person you've ever met."

When the young Empress merely looked down into her lap dejectedly, her friend added softly, "It'll be okay, Lihua. Xingke would never allow himself to be the cause of your sorrow. He's kind in that respect."

"… You really think so? But he won't even rest, arguing that my safety is priority over his physical-"

The Britannian wrapped her hands around the Chinese's own, which were trembling from hear. Indigo melded into vermillion, and Nunnally soothed her distress with, "He will never leave you. He promised you, didn't he? And as a soldier and a man of integrity and honor, Li Xingke will never leave you. In any way."

When her frown didn't disappear, she sweetly teased, "After all, doesn't he love  
-"

There was a knock on the door, which effectively cut their conversation short. Both girls looked to see who had interrupted them as the double doors swung open. The young monarchs smiled, seeing how their visitors were their respective Knights and guardians.

"Hello."

Nunnally greeted them in a rather plain, pedestrian manner. She wasn't very fond of the way decorum and court formalities forced her to act as superior above those around her. She knew that, realistically, they were all far more adept and had much more prowess than her in virtually all and every area of skill. So, whenever the opportunity presented itself, she pounced for it and addressed people as informally as she pleased.

'Well,' she thought bitterly, 'You're better at one thing than everyone else. You're the best at being the cause of pain and conflict.'

The chestnut-haired woman bit her lower lip, struggling to fight the tears that had suddenly sprung into her wide eyes, as her mind dwelled on the memories of her beloved elder brother. Every morning, when she woke in the bedroom that her brother had once lived in, walked in, slept in, _breathed_ in, regret always flooded her. Religiously.

Why had he felt the need to make such a sacrifice for her? And how could she have been so selfish, and not have at least suspected what he had been doing? For her? All for her… For her, her sweet brother, her kind brother, her loving brother, had offered both his name and life to grant her wish. And the sad, pathetic thing was… It wasn't even her _true_ wish.

All Nunnally desired was to be with her dearest sibling, together, the both of them happy. That was all she had wanted, and now, it was all she would ever wish for.

"… Nunnally?"

Lihua's concern, now focusing from her protector to her companion, snapped the young girl out of her depressing reverie. Smiling weakly, she answered, "It seems that it's time for you to leave. Look; Xingke is waiting for you."

And he certainly was.

The tall, imposing man, with his long raven hair and commanding umber eyes, stood in the doorway. He did look a little more gaunt, a little more fatigued, than the last time Nunnally had seen him, but to his credit, he looked well for someone who was fighting an illness such as the one he was.

"Your Majesty," nodded the military man. Her smile strengthened, and she mixed in a generous amount of amiability, as she in turn greeted him with a light, "Good afternoon, General Li."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Empress Tianzi tilted her head to the side as she attempted to read the true thoughts of her friend. But Nunnally had been sitting on the throne for two years now, and she had honed her skills of veiling her innermost emotions. Her lips curled up into a teasing smile as she asked, "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

Lihua giggled nervously, and she jokingly pouted, "I'm okay. I'm just a little tired. Being empress isn't as fun as everyone makes it seem."

"Oh, I know what you mean."

The two laughed together before the girl with snow-white tresses rose from her chair and energetically embraced her friend.

"Bye, Nunnally. Thank you for listening to me. It must have been boring for you. But thank you all the same."

"I'm happy to offer you a shoulder and an ear whenever you need, Lihua."

"Thank you."

"You should stop thanking me, or Xingke will scold you for being so humble and modest again."

She tittered guiltily behind her hand before whispering, "I think that, even if I were to knock you out of your chair, I would probably be lectured all the same."

"Empress Tianzi," reminded her guard.

The Commander's charge gave one last hug before straightening up with a bright smile and singing, "I'm coming, Xingke. Bye, Nunnally."

"Go home safely. Lihua," waved the young queen. As soon as the entrance to the parlor were closed behind the pair, who was already in the midst of an admonishment, she sighed heavily before frailly querying, "Will you take your mask off?"

When her advisor made no effort to move, she pleaded with a tired, "Please?"

Slowly, a gloved hand reached up for the disguise, and for a split second, the hope that the face lying underneath had amethyst irises and warm smile blazed in her. But reality slapped the expectation away, and she was soon faced with, not an amaranth, but an emerald gaze.

"Hello Suzaku."

"Nunnally," said he stiffly.

"… Do you hate having to show me your real face? I'm sorry."

He sighed and merely shook his head, his brunette locks covering his clouded eyes. Silence settled inside of the opulent room, until the younger of the two listlessly said, "It's been almost two years since I assumed the title of ruler of Britannia."

"… You're doing well, Nunnally. We're all proud of you. I'm proud of you, Le…"

He stopped, accidentally broaching the forbidden subject. Time seemed to freeze, before she quietly questioned, "Big brother would be proud of me. Is that what you were going to say, Suzaku?"

The Knight cursed his carelessness as he saw his best friend's sister wilt. With a pained expression he knew all too well from seeing it all the time in the reflection of mirrors, Nunnally tearfully choked out, "He would have been proud of me… Right, Suzaku? Right?"

His harsh emerald scrutiny softened as he replied, "Of course. Lelouch would have been so proud of you, Nunnally… He'd have been walking around, his chest puffed out and a smug smirk on his face."

She wiped her tears away, granting him a watery giggle and relief.

"That's silly. Big brother would never walk or smile like that. He's too kind."

Zero could only look on sadly as he studied the monarch sitting in front of him. She was so unbelievably strong; it amazed him. Nunnally had done so well for the past two years. And yet… During those two years, he had watched her struggle with her guilt and grief. He had watched her fight against her inability to forgive herself, endured the maelstrom that politics were always throwing her into the center of…

She needed a break.

And she so deserved one.

Walking closer, Suzaku felt the muscles in his face protesting as they rearranged themselves into a sincere smile, something he hadn't done for much too long. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hand carefully and looked up into her tired indigo eyes before saying, "I have an idea, Nunnally."

. . .

"Do you love C2?"

Lelouch stared at her, trying to crack Anya's mask. But it was to no avail. The girl had worn a disguise for as long as he had, and was just as disciplined at hiding her true emotions. When he calmed his startlement, he sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair before slowly replying, "Why do you ask?"

"You said that you liked her," she pointed out.

An ephemeral bark of incredulous laughter flew out from his thin lips before countering with, "Just because I say I like someone, Anya, it doesn't mean I love them."

"It might. Since it's C2."

He shook his head; the Emperor refused to even entertain the possibility that he could be in love with the woman. Yes, he sought out her company amongst others, yes, he found her amusing (and at times endearing, but even the heavens knew that he would _never_ willingly admit to _that_), and yes, he considered her to be his equal and companion. But love? Never. The Witch and the Warlock, their relationship was clear and simple. Black and white. Absolutely no greys. They didn't have room for any grey.

_ Liar_.

The singular word immediately ceased all traffic in his head, and only grew louder and more demanding for attention with the stopping of all hasty thoughts and excuses.

_Liar_.

He was _not_ lying; all he had thought, all he had said so far had been the truth and the truth only. He hadn't embellished it for his, or anyone else's benefit; he wasn't lying to anyone. He had stopped deceiving anyone as soon as his agenda allowed him to, he was, in no way, telling falsehoods to anyone.

_Liar_.

He wasn't ly-

"Anya! Master Lelouch!"

The spotlight shone on the interrupter, and Lelouch silently thanked Jeremiah, who had saved him, as unintentional and accidental as it was. He would have to…

Why did he look so tense? What could have possibly happened in the five minutes he had left the main house? Had C2 done something agai-

"Master Lelouch, an unprecedented and unforeseen emergency situation has arose."

"What is it?"

"Empress Nunnally is coming to Helia the day after the next."

Amethyst eyes widened with shock and the raven-haired man inhaled sharply. As if he hadn't heard the first time (which he most definitely had), Jeremiah urgently repeated with force, "Empress Nunnally is coming here the day after the next."

. . .

Lelouch sat in his chair, stunned into silence.

Nunnally was coming,

Of course, she had no idea that he was still alive and well. She didn't know that he resided at Helia, the Gottwalds' plantation. Neither did Suzaku for the matter. But they were both coming here, to Helia. They would be here, in this very kitchen. The day after the next.

It was like a nightmare come true.

"Master Lelouch will have to temporarily live elsewhere," muttered Jeremiah. He took up his fretful pacing again, while Anya quietly chewed on a carrot and Sayoko sat at her place at the table, patiently waiting for her husband to calm down.

"Sayoko, where could he go? It has to be far away enough so that the possibility of Zero or her Majesty discovering the truth is slim, but still a distance short enough that it doesn't take-"

"Perhaps Dion?" suggested she.

"Dion?"

"I believe it's an approximate 27 miles from here. On horse, it should take about a day, but taking into account Antonius' haste in traveling, the trip should be haled in duration."

The head of the household paused his constant walking back and forth and thought for a moment.

"… Yes. Yes, that's it. Master Lelouch will travel to Dion tomorrow morning Antonius, and will stay there during the period when her Majesty, Empress Nunnally, and Zero rest here, at Helia."

The centre of their collective attention finally spoke up.

"Dion hasn't been habited since its last owner, which was nearly a decade ago. Nor has it ever been visited since then. The farmhouse is probably derelict by now."

There was a beat of silence, before Jeremiah erupted.

"Then I shall immediately go and prepare Dion so that-"

"… No."

The loyal acolyte frowned in surprised and insisted, "But my lord, you deserve-"

Lelouch shook his head slowly. "It's good. The dilapidation of Dion will serve me well. It will occupy my time there. And besides… It's time we've heightened our rate of productivity. I will leave for Dion. During the six days I'm to be there, I will prepare the orchard so that it can be utilized."

He rose from his chair, firm with resolve.

"After lunch, we'll proceed to hide away any and all traces of my existence here and pack for the journey. Which will begin this evening, at twilight."

The moment he announced the alteration to the plans, protest washed over the raven-haired man. The cyborg, his frown carving itself deeper into his face, said, "Twilight? Master Lelouch, that is highly unadvisable. Traveling during the nighttime, especially a lone rider, is incredibly dangerous. Please reconsider and make your departure tomorrow morning."

Sayoko nodded in agreement, but it was Anya who voiced the question they were all wondering.

"Why twilight?"

"We've lived together for two years. During that time, we've all formed habits, some of which involve me. Even if it's only for a day, it's a good, precautionary measure to practice living without me."

"But-" Jeremiah didn't get far, as his foster daughter cut him off with her own declaration (although hers was much calmer and quieter).

"Lelouch is right."

Jeremiah looked to his spouse for support, but instead received an apologetic, "I also agree with Master Lelouch. It's for the better," she added hurriedly upon seeing her husband's brow twitch out of frustration. "We wouldn't want her Majesty, or Zero to find out the secret we've guarded so well for the past few years.

Uneasiness swathed the bright kitchen until the farmer finally gave in with a dejected sigh. The former maid breathed a sigh of relief, when she heard him plead, 'But at least carry a firearm at all times on your person, Master Lelouch. For your safety."

"That's a given," replied the younger adult. Unbuttoning his shirt's collar to cool himself from the merciless summer heat, he announced, "I'll be skipping lunch today. I'm sorry, Sayoko. I know how much effort you put into providing meals for us."

"Not at all."

"I'll be in the pasture after I change," said the immortal to no one in particular. He heard Jeremiah reply with his customary, "yes, my lord" as he ascended the polished staircase of the residency. His hand delicately slid up the banister, trailing after him. When he arrived at the top, he faced the long hallway of bedrooms. To the right of him was a shorter corridor, which lead to Jeremiah and Sayoko's suite, but in front was the passageway that housed the doors to his, Anya's, and C2's rooms.

Even with two years, Lelouch grudgingly admitted that he still felt a bit queer about not sleeping in the same bed as the witch. It had grown to be a habit (a terrible one, he had decided), and at night, during the times he found himself lying awake (even after a long, difficult day of work), he felt as if something were missing. For a horribly lengthy amount of time, he had tried to figure out what was bothering him so. One night had turned into three, which had quickly evolved into a week, only to escalate into a month, until Lelouch could honestly claim that he had a year and a half's worth of nights full of nothing but speculation and mystification.

And then it dawned on him.

Her warmth.

He felt out of place without C2 besides him. The entire bed and blanket was at the mercy of, not her, but _his_, will and pleasure. He no longer had to share the quilt, no longer had to share the mattress's space, no longer had her warmth and body besides his. And it felt strange, as if one of his limbs had been severed from him. As if something had been unjustly stolen from him.

Damn it.

What had the witch done to him?

With great effort, he tore his curious eyes away from her bedroom, which he just now realized he had never seen the inside of (he shuddered as he tried to imagine exactly what kind of garbage dump her room was currently buried under), and walked into his own.

As soon as the raven-haired man closed his door behind him with a sharp click, another door opened. Golden irises blinked before flickering to the window at the end of the hallway. They cringed slightly from the dazzling sunlight streaming in, before they readjusted to the light. Gazing out onto the bright emerald sea of grass below, the shadows of an idea forming appeared. Withdrawing, the door closed again so that the witch could begin her own preparations.

. . .

"My lord."

"Jeremiah."

Lelouch continued to harness his ebony gelding to the small, wooden cart, occasionally rubbing its nose or smoothing Antonius' silky mane, as his visitor marched towards his beloved master.

"All of the equipment necessary for improving the current state of Dion is already located within the vicinities of the grove. If memory serves, everything should still be intact and able to be put to use."

"I see. I assume there won't be any feed for Antonius?"

"No, my lord."

"A shame. It seems that he'll miss his oats and alfalfa," chuckled the horse's keeper. The steed tossed his head haughtily before pawing the ground, as if expressing his impatience with his owner. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the rest of the Gottwald family nearing them, probably intending to bid him farewell and good fortune.

"Do you have all that you need, Master Lelouch? Perhaps I should pack more preserves. Or more fruit. Oh, what of-"

"There's no need to fret, Sayoko. I have enough provisions to last me three weeks."

"Yes, Master Lelouch." She flushed slightly, embarrassed by her outburst of anxiety. Anya, taking a break from chewing on an apple, said, "Goodbye, Lelouch. Don't die. Or worse… Don't get caught."

"I won't, as long as you stay out of the trees," he replied while climbing up onto the cart. He scanned the innumerable rows of range trees for any sign of the woman with hair the color of juniper, but found nothing. Frowning, he inquired, "Have you seen C2? I want to share a word with her before I leave."

"I'm right here, boy," answered a familiar voice. He turned and saw her setting down a large carpet bag in between the sake of potatoes and fertilizer.

"What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

She shoved him over before settling down in the seat she had just drove him out of. Staring at her, he dumbly said, "You can't come with me, C2."

"And why is that, boy?"

She crossed her arms and legs, her back straight and her gaze stubborn, her entire body showing him her challenge to his opposition.

"Nunnally and Suzaku both know you live here. She'll look for you."

"Why would she look for me? She'd rather spend her time with Anya, not a witch like me."

"She asked you to stay at the imperial palace with her," he reminded her. "She's going to search for you."

"It's a shame then, that I won't be here for Nunnally's visit. Besides, you don't have a choice. Sayoko and Jeremiah support my decision. They said that since your face is too recognizable and infamous, you need an escort and ward. So here I am. Now let's go before it gets any darker."

Amethyst irises flickered past the emerald-haired woman to scrutinize the family of three, who shrunk away from the cold, judgmental glare. Refocusing his attention to the problem at hand, he tried a different angle.

"What will Jeremiah say when they ask about your whereabou-"

"I left for a two-day pizza convention 3 days' travel from here."

A stare-down ensued, until the warlock broke eye contact and flicked the reins, muttering, "Somehow, that sounds like a plausible and believable excuse."

She only smirked smugly and replied, "You can't win against _me_, boy."

Lelouch merely pursed his lips as they turned onto the empty road outside of the plantation. It looked like the following six days would be incredibly trying and difficult… He only prayed he had the strength to weather through them and still return home in one, sane piece.

. . .

The immortal relaxed his sore muscles as Antonius snorted besides him before dipping his head to drink the clear, silvery water of the calm lake spilled out in front of them. His master glanced back at the cart, which was resting at the side of the road, and could just barely make out the immortal, who was asleep on the wagon.

Questions dutifully trooped into his head, and he continued to stare at her. Why had she followed him? What was the incentive and reward for her to leave the comforts of Helia, only to go to Dion, an abandoned grove? Why had she come with him?

As he stared, something pulled him towards her, and soon enough, he found himself gravitating to it until he was standing by her, his eyes grazing over her. Her emerald hair gently glimmered, dully reflecting the moon's bright light. Her dress, a combination of red, green, black, and white, pooled around her petite body. Her chest rose and fell steadily, as she slept, completely oblivious to her observer.

The witch shifted to her side and her breath caught momentarily as cool wood came in contact with her bare skin. As her breathing resumed its normal, consistent, Lelouch realized that she was chilly, if not cold from the cool summer night. Suddenly feeling gracious towards her, he reached for his shawl, which had been deserted on the seat she had previously occupied before climbing to the back to sleep, and carefully covered her with navy cashmere.

She sighed and he couldn't help but smile; it had been a long time since he had last watched C2 sleep, and he had forgotten how endearing she looked. For some reason, he always found it therapeutic, contemplating her and her only like some guardian angel (he laughed at the idea; he was probably one of the last people who deserved to be called angel).

After some time had passed, in which there was no sound or movement save for the lazily drifting fireflies and the chirping orchestra of crickets, the Britannian hesitantly reached out and carefully tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ear. His expression soft, his hand made to brush her cheek, when she suddenly sneezed. Starting, his eyes darted towards her face guiltily, as if he had been on the brink of committing a crime. Relieved that she hadn't woken up and caught him doing… Doing whatever it was that he had been doing, tucking her hair behind her ear, whatever it was, he sighed and decided that it was time to take up the reins again.

Turning away from the woman, he whistled for Antonius, who obediently trotted up the small hill towards him. Harnessing the horse in, Lelouch climbed up onto the wagon and they began to make their way down the dirt road again.

As they wordlessly travelled down the path, Lelouch occasionally glanced back at the sleeping woman, or, if not looking back, allowed for his thoughts to wander to her. Earlier, he had mulled over why she had joined him for this particular journey, but now… Now, he decided that he was grateful for her company, regardless of why she had chosen to leave with him.

'Thank you, C2.'

And, despite frowning at the start, a smile threatened to form on his lips as the Witch and the Warlock continued on to safety, one sleeping and the other driving, but both content.

. . .

"This is Dion."

He could clearly hear the unmistakable chime of dissatisfaction in his companion's voice and had to admit that he was also unimpressed (to the point of displeasure) by the estate.

It was, of course, much smaller than Helia, the main residency, but this was just…

The orchard, full of orange trees, who looked to be on the brink of death, was small enough that it didn't even look to be much trouble for even Lelouch to care for on his own. But the filed wasn't the source of the distress. No. It wasn't the pathetic grove, it was the _house_.

The white paint was peeling, the windows had been crazily boarded up, as if a blind man had been handed a bag of nails, a hammer, and the task of blocking all possible openings to the depressing cottage; moss and ivy crept up the sides of the house, which looked as if it would be blown away by the summer breeze any moment. It would be an understatement to say that the Witch and the Warlock were disgruntled and shocked.

They stared for some time, standing in between the grave for orange trees and the frail cottage, before C2 spoke up.

"Is it safe to go in there?"

"… I'm not sure," he uttered, meaning every single one of the words in his reply.

The pair stared some more, wondering whether to step inside or not.

"… Well, I'm not standing out here all day. I'm stiff from sleeping somewhere so hard all night. I'm going inside."

"Wait, C-"

She tore away the planks covering the door, whose coating of burgundy paint was so faded, it was nearly pink, and brazenly strode inside. Lelouch followed quickly, only to be surprised to find that the interior wasn't as bad as the initial appearance of the building.

Of course, there was dust covering any and every available surface, and all of the furniture seemed old and worn, not to mention how, fortunately, amazingly, the electricity was still functioning (as the emerald-haired woman had flicked the light switch, not wishing to trip on anything and make a fool of herself in front of her companion).

"And they say not to judge a book by its cover…" she murmured to herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Britannian enter their new home, his face a mess of conflicting emotions. She internally laughed at him; Mr. Perfect was having a difficult time accepting the fact that he had to live in such a dirty, dusty, unorganized and refined place such as this. The first thing he was probably going to do was clean the house. Well, he could clean all he pleased, and he could fuss at her to help all he wanted, but she was content to just lie in bed all day everyday and just watch him exert unnecessary-

"C2!"

Lelouch, who had been looking around the kitchen they were apparently standing in, noticed that the ceiling looked weak. Particularly above the area where the witch was standing. She herself was sneering, probably pleased with their set-up, which seemed like it had been specifically designed to give him a hard time. That was when the plaster began to crack and his brows began to furrow. Was the ceiling really going to-

He closed the distance separating himself and the woman in one, impossibly long stride. Shielding her, the sound of plaster tearing and the very foundations of the house moaning filled his ears, but Lelouch was deaf to them all. Instead, he focused on the witch, whose eyes had widened from surprise. His hands flew up to cover her mouth, nose, and eyes, and the two stood as still as statues until the last of the white dust snowed down on them.

Once everything was still and calm again, Lelouch let out a cough and a scratchy, "That's going to present to be a problem later."

"… Well, you enjoy cleaning, so I don't' see what the problem is," she said, her reply muffled by his palm. She shifted his hand so that she could look up at him, the look in her eyes unreadable. The raven-haired man (who really looked like he had grey hair now), was about to sigh, when he inhaled dust and only coughed. C2 placed her cool hand over his own mouth and nose so as to protect him in the same fashion he was protecting her. She could feel his warm breath tickle her, and the pair stood frozen, each mystified by their actions.

"… We should get out before any more of the ceiling falls on us," he eventually said, his voice rather gruff. She replied, "I don't think there's any more ceiling left to fall on us."

They peered up at the gaping hole above them, and Lelouch groaned. It was a bedroom. One of the bedrooms were now completely and utterly inaccessible and unusable. Which meant…

"How many rooms are left?

C2's warmth stole away from him as she made her way up the aged, squeaking staircase.

"Be careful," he reminded her.

"I have eyes and ears, Lelouch."

But all the same, she heeded his warning and stepped carefully. When her companion arrived at the second-floor, she grabbed his wrist, and he looked at her in surprise.

"If I'm falling through the floor, I'm not going alone," she simply explained. Exasperated by her rationalization, he frowned, but didn't tear his hand away. Rather, he slid his hand up and laced their fingers together. Choosing to ignore her raised eyebrow, he muttered, "It's dark in here. We'll have to take down the wooden boards."

"Scared of the dark, boy?" she teased. His brow twitched in irritation, but he curbed his sharp tongue. Who knew what she would do in retaliation if he upset her? She was like a nuclear bomb, primed to detonate with the slightest disturbance. As she tugged him down the hallway, he prayed that he would find the patience from somewhere within him to deal with her peacefully. Knowing himself, and knowing the woman, that probably wasn't going to happen.

"So this is the room we'll be using…"

Lelouch peered over the immortal's powdered crown and through the doorway she was standing in.

There was a large bed in the middle of the surprisingly enormous room, along with a bedside table, which carried a lamp and a pitcher sitting in a bowl, and an ancient wardrobe carved from cherry wood. Besides it stood a full-length mirror and a cushioned rocking chair. As C2 walked to the bed, the warlock said, "We?"

"Well, if you want to use the other room, then feel free to. But I'm not, and you know I won't, so I suggest we skip the ceremonial argument. In turn, I'll let you sleep here with me." She patted the faded quilt, sending a cloud of dust into the air. Coughing and waving her hand, she added, "As soon as you clean the mattress."

Resigning himself to his fate, he watched her stroll towards a door and waltz inside. She explored the depths of the room hidden behind, and then soon heard the sound of a running water.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to shower. So I need you to fetch my bag."

"Shower?"

He could only watch as she untied the black corset she layered over her dress and allowed for it fall to the floor by her feet. She stripped herself of the first two layers of her skirt before asking, "Are you going to stand there like a pervert, or are you going to do as I told you to?"

Flushing indignantly, he turned on his heel and strode out of the bedroom. Slamming the door to shut out her humiliating laughter, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Oh, it certainly was going to be a difficult six days indeed.

**A/N: And so it begins… Reviews are very much welcomed! Thank you very much.**


	3. A Farm Boy, Pizza, and Three Cards

**A/N: Hello everyone. Uh, so apparently I caught a cold? And school was cancelled for three and a half days (or something like that). Uh, so I haven't been feeling all that well (both in mind and body, cause, you know, colds don't just affect the body), but I'm alright (I'm still alive and breathing). But I don't know if the characters are IC. I hope they are. They apparently were the last two chapters(?), so… Here's to hoping (*downs a thing of medicine*).**

Chapter Three

Lelouch, the lower half of his face covered by a dust mask born from a square of white cloth, threw the last of the decaying wooden planks out of the second story window and down into the bushes below. Sighing, he stretched, his lower back and arms burning with the fire of dull pain. He had been liberating the windows and doors of the cottage from the nailed-down boards for a good two hours now. Relieved that the arduous task had finally been accomplished, he brushed away the irritation that had been quietly simmering in the pit of his stomach. His fury was directed towards the architect of the house; why there had to be so many goddamn windows, he didn't know, but if he were ever to come across the designer…

Lelouch would not be one to pay them compliments, whoever they were.

Grabbing the old broom he had dug out from a cluttered closet, he walked down the short corridor of the second floor to sweep the debris left from the floor caving in earlier, when it finally dawned on him how quiet it was.

It was too quiet for his liking.

Changing course midway, he retraced his steps to the one and only (surviving) bedroom in the cottage to discover just what was making the witch be so still.

She was sitting in the rocking chair, gently teetering back and forth to a calm, legato rhythm. In her lap lay something he couldn't quite make out, but the look of deep concentration on her face told him enough. The raven-haired man wasn't quite sure if he should be worried or glad that she was sitting quietly, instead of occupying her time with experiments to see how quickly she could get under his skin. Well, he eventually rationalized, she hasn't combusted or made a bigger mess, so it can't really be-

"What do you want?" she questioned, all the while never tearing her eyes away from her task.

"What are you doing?"

"Not cleaning," replied she absentmindedly. Taking extra effort to curb his tongue and bite back any retorts, he repeated, "… What are you doing, C2?"

"Nothing that you need to know of. What is it that you want from me, boy?"

When he ignored her inquiry and merely scrutinized her with all the suspicion he could muster, she finally looked up, and said, "Are we playing at being Zero again?"

He silently condemned her with a withering frown before telling her, "I need you out of the house."

"My, my, how can someone, who has the daring to call themself a gentleman, oust a lady from their residency? And in such a vulgar fashion too?"

"I need you out of the house. If you're not going to help me clean, I need you out. You're only going to get in the way," explained he in a flat tone. She only scoffed.

"You can't kick me out, no matter what you say or what you try."

"But I can make you work. And is that what you want to do, C2? Wouldn't you rather go to town and see if they're selling any pizza?"

A savage glimmer appeared in her golden eyes, and her quick hands momentarily slowed. Lelouch smirked behind his mask; that woman would do anything for pizza, even lea-

"Get out," she abruptly demanded.

"What?"

"I'm not going to town dressed only in your shirt, boy. Think of the scandal it would create… So get out, you perverted degenerate."

Suffering through her insult with waning patience, the warlock retreated into the hallway. Silently nursing his pride, he closed the door on the witch and the flash of annoyance aimed towards the immortal. With a resigned sigh, he returned to the seemingly never-ending to-do list that incessantly called for his attention. Gripping the slender broom tightly, the emperor turned janitor embarked upon his exhausting and daunting voyage.

. . .

"I'm taking Antonius to town," announced C2. Her declaration held no askance for permission in riding the horse, which exasperated Lelouch. Hanging the damp comforter he had just finished hand-laundering on the clothes line, he immediately replied with a stern and firm, "No."

"I was making a statement, not seeking your consent."

As she briskly and purposefully made her way to the jade pasture (where the source of the conflict stood obliviously grazing), her companion made sure the last of the clothespins were biting the quilt before chasing after her.

"I said that you can't, C2. It's for your own good. Antonius threw off even Jeremiah. He won't obey you."

"That's because he's never met me as a rider." Waving off his warnings, she picked up the pace before stepping through the splintered wooden stockade and whistling for the animal's attention.

The Britannian could only watch helplessly as Antonius looked up, his ears flickering in the summer breeze. He sought the one who had called for him, and the raven-haired man saw the way the horse's coal black eyes settled on C2, who gave one more piercing whistle. Lelouch could only pinch the bridge of his nose. Why did this woman have to be so stubborn and ignorant?

When the steed continued to hesitate, his mind trying to decide whether or not the stranger was someone he could trust, the witch tantalizingly held out a cool, scarlet apple. With an excited whinny, he galloped towards the pair. The emerald-haired woman smiled triumphantly as the warlock glared, feeling all the world as if he had been betrayed by his own mount.

"So even you abandon your haughtiness in the face of a treat…" she murmured. Feeding the eager gelding while rubbing his nose, she tried to pop the bubble of laughter traveling up her throat as she saw out of the corner of her eye the boy's frown widen out of disbelief. Once there was nothing left in her palm but a skinny core, Antonius nudged her skirt, smelling the rewards she had hidden within the pockets of her dress. Smiling, she held up his muzzle and scolded him.

"That's only after you do a good job. Not before, you spoiled horse. You dote on him too much," she spoke to his owner, who scowled before replying with, "That's enough. Now leave him alone before he-"

Paying no mind to his instructions, the unstoppable witch gracefully mounted the docile steed. As she rearranged the folds of the skirt of her attire, he reluctantly relented and muttered, "At least saddle him properly before you go."

"There's no need."

"What do you mean 'there's no need'? You-"

"I'll be back in time for dinner, Lelouch. I expect to see a warm pizza waiting for me on the table when I return."

And before the raven-haired man could even open his mouth to further protest, she clicked her tongue and seemingly vanished before his half-concerned, half-irritated eyes, deserting him behind and leaving nothing but a cloud of dust, and the haunting and lingering sound of her laughter.

. . .

Although the nearest village was still a little way's away from the orange grove, the horse and his rider soon happened upon the small town, which was sitting snugly in its own valley, having torn down the dirt paths. Gently patting the gelding's neck, she urged him towards the serene hamlet. Eager and quick to please his new (and _temporary_) mistress, Antonius shot forward. Her customarily cold and apathetic mask shattered into an enthusiastic grin. She could positively taste the aromatic tomato sauce and warm cheese perfectly melting together on her tongue, the deliciously baked bread, its crust a wonderful golden brown adding texture…

Fingering the wad of money she had secretly spirited away from Lelouch's bag, C2 raced towards the Elysium. _Her_ Elysium. Oh, what pizza would she discover there?

. . .

Men of all ages, the handsome and the less fortunate, the rich and the poor, the tall and short, skinny and rotund, flocked around C2. Unpleasant memories reverberating in her mind, she unconsciously stepped closer to her elegant steed, whose eyes shift around, fully suspicious of the crowd that had suddenly gathered around his mistress.

Although it was only noon, and the sun was no more than halfway up the clear, sapphire-blue sky, the witch caught a whiff of the unmistakable, repugnant stench of cheap alcohol. Nose wrinkling out of disgust, her emotionless golden irises gazed unblinkingly at her audience as she silently condemned herself.

After being in the company of nobles and former emperors for the past two decades, she had forgotten how casual and unrefined the pedestrian man could be. Particularly when inebriated. She mentally counted fifteen immediately surrounding her, and from in between their jostling shoulders, she could see that her audience was growing by the second as curious passer-byers came to investigate what was captivating such a large group of people. C2, no longer owning the tolerance to be in the presence of these Neanderthals, made to mount the patiently waiting horse again, when a grimy hand snatched up her wrist.

Her head snapped to her agitator, a seedy and sickly looking old timer. With a wisp of grey hair sparsely covering his sweaty bald head, and gaps between his yellowing teeth, his clammy hand tightened around her wrist. She made to pull free from his grasp and demonstrate just what happens to those who cross immortal witches, when an arm gently slid around her shoulders. A slender hand, and its delicate touch, relinquished her from the grip of the idiot man, and she watched as all of the other men slowly backed away. A kind voice calmly said, "Sorry lads, but today's not your lucky day. You understand, don't you?"

The subtle glint of menace in the intervener's eyes clearly delivered the _true_ message of hostility, and, grumbling, the group dissipated as they shot dark scowls towards the pair (but (fortunately) no challenges). Soon enough, the only trace of the impromptu assembly were the imprints of their sturdy leather boots stamped into the damp mud. Able to breathe clear, fresh air, C2 exhaled slowly, glad to have sidestepped a potential fiasco, when she heard, "I'm sorry. They're usually not overbearing, they're good men, really. It's just… Well, it's the festival. Drunk out of their minds and thinking only of women, once they see a beautiful lady such as yourself… What can I say?"

The young man ran his hand through his rose-colored locks and offered her an apologetic, lopsided grin. Realizing how he had yet to introduce himself, he straightened up and extended his hand to her. Amiably smiling, he said, "Nice to meet you. I'm Alexei Aleksandrovich."

. . .

Lelouch, exhausted, collapsed into a rickety wooden chair. Mopping at the sweat beading at his temples, he let out a stuffy sigh. He had successfully unpacked the contents of the wagon, removed the wooden boards blocking up the doors and windows, dusted off and wiped down any and every surface in the two story cottage, swept away the debris of the bedroom that had collapsed, had done the laundry by hand, and attempted to make a dent in the mountain of general chaos.

Hot, tired, and sticky with perspiration, he tugged the gray dust mask off before slipping off his dusty cleaning gloves. Untying the sooty apron (he had briefly fumbled, nearly losing his patience to his frustration and nearly tried to just tear it off), his fingers immediately flew towards the clear buttons of his damp dress shirt.

Who the hell needed proper etiquette when he felt as if he were being roasted alive? Besides, it was him and him only for the time being, so there wouldn't be any need to dodge C2's snide comments about his wardrobe selection.

The light summer breeze coolly grazing him, Lelouch felt his tense muscles finally relaxing. Pouring himself a glass from a pitcher of ice-cold water, he lifted the cup to his lips. His other hand drumming on the newly polished kitchen counter, he wondered what he was going to do with all of the excess wood from the windows.

… They could store it as firewood for the winter. Or maybe they could build a bookshelf? Or a birdhouse? What could he…

He glanced out of the open window before staring at the vast green pasture lying besides the house. Here and there, scattered randomly, were small clusters of tress. Near the middle, he spied an enormous oak. From the thickness of the trunk and aging of the bark, it looked to be several decades old.

His amethyst eyes shifted towards the neatly stacked pile of boards near the propped-open front door, and then to the tree again, a thought in his head solidifying into an idea.

Fine.

He had been searching for something to keep his hands busy when it got to be dark anyways.

This would do.

Finishing off the glass, Lelouch couldn't help but wonder if the witch would approve of his decision. Inside him, a tiny voice, full of timidity, whispered how he hoped she would.

He would find out soon enough.

. . .

Alexei had offered to walk her around the village, and to navigate her through the most safest and calmest parts of the town. Seeing nothing wrong with having her own, free personal guide showing her where to go, rather than traipsing by herself in a foreign place bursting with handsy men, C2 chose to temporarily trust the boy and allowed him to chauffeur her around.

"So, C2. What kind of man is he?"

"What kind of man is who?" she asked absentmindedly. Where in the world was the pizza? There _had_ to be pizza here; Lelouch wouldn't dare lie to her about something concerning the love of-

"The love of your life."

"What?"

Still completely unfocused and unconcerned with the direction the conversation was flowing in, the witch peered around, desperately searching for the warm, delicious, cheese-covered-

"Isn't that why you looked so disgusted when we first met? Because you were already with someone?"

"What are you talking about, Alexei?" she sighed. The boy was more trouble than he was worth. He wasn't even leading her anywhere-

He gently nudged her into the direction of a bustling inn, and the emerald-haired woman reached for Antonius, who had been obediently trailing behind. Feeding the horse a carrot, she distractedly patted him on the mane before striding inside of the lodge. Inside were men, women, and children, all laughing and chatting together, some sharing enormous platters of food or gathered around kegs of beer. Alexei guided her through the crowded aisle to the bar as he asked, "You do know today is, don't you?"

"Wednesday."

"… It's the last week of the annual Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival."

"Is it now?"

Paying the minimal amount of attention necessary, the immortal beckoned for the plump and kindly-looking woman who was standing behind the counter with a friendly smile. Immediately placing an order for a plate of pizza, she began her impatient wait, when she miraculously managed to hear above the din, "Isn't that why you came here? For the festival?"

"Why would I need to go to a matchmaking festival? Do I really look like someone who needs help with finding love?"

"Well…"

She whipped around to glare at the boy, who slightly flinched from the sudden aura of hostility cloaking the woman. Fighting the urge to sigh with exasperation, she turned her back on him, her sharp golden eyes trained on the waitress who was returning from the kitchen with a plate of steaming Italian pie. She was just about to reach for a scrumptious slice, when a hand shot out and grabbed the platter. Tossing several bills down, Alexei tossed a bright smile and a cheerful, "Thanks, Agnes" before grabbing C2's wrist.

When he had successfully dragged her outside, she wrenched herself free of his strong grip before snapping, "Who the hell do you think you are?"

"There's someone you need to meet," he replied ambiguously. And before she could steal her lunch back, he began to weave his way through the steady stream of people, holding the pizza high up in the air above the other villagers' heads, not even looking back once. Gritting her teeth out of frustration and cursing her foolishness for trusting the boy, she motioned for Antonius to follow as she chased after her meal the idiot had stupidly run off with.

. . .

Lelouch put his head in his hand, disbelief making him sigh. Even after all this time, after everything they had gone through together, some things evidently didn't change. Crouching by his portmanteau, he had been looking for a shirt to change into, when he realized that one of the numerous rolls of money he had brought was missing.

The witch had stolen his money.

It brought to mind the time a couple of years ago, when he had still been crowned as the emperor of justice. C2 had insisted on physically going to a Pizza Hut, saying that the royal chef had, in no way, the skill to replicate the unique taste of the franchise chain. And so, after three days of constant pestering, coercing, and the occasional sprinkle of blackmail, he had buckled and given in. So, with the help of a well-placed hat and normal civilian attire, they had 'snuck out' of the imperial palace. Once there, she happily eating and him content with simply watching her, he had questioned her for the true reason for coming there. After swallowing a mouthful of crust, she reached for another slice while nonchalantly explaining, "It tastes better if someone voluntarily buys it for you."

He had scoffed, replying with, "I would hardly call me paying for this voluntary, witch." And she had smartly retorted with, "You didn't _have_ to come with me. And you know it too. This was all your doing, warlock. I only gave you a small push."

He had only smiled then, offering no counterattack for once.

Afterwards, they had caught a midnight movie showing and taken a quiet walk in the park. But it wasn't until they were on the train ride home from downtown, with her fast asleep and leaning on his shoulder, when he realized how happy and _normal_ he had felt throughout the entire… Date. As friends, of course, he had quickly compromised. Yes, this was a date, a _social appointment_, as _friends_. Nothing more, nothing less. He silently nursed a pang in his heart, but his resolution in no way waned.

They were only friends.

But, though it made him wince and want to throw something out of the speeding train out of frustration, his lips curled up into the smallest and subtlest of smiles. And as they returned home, together, he found himself gently laying her head in his lap as he thanked her for allowing him to feel like a normal teenager, even if it were only for one night.

Upon the remembrance of the memory, Lelouch couldn't help but grin. His annoyance evaporating, he made to pull out a new shirt, when a note fluttered out from the folds of his clothes and to the ground. Picking it up, he turned it over and saw in unmistakable elegant handwriting he knew to be the woman's, he read, 'I'll pay you back one way or other. There's no need to lecture me when I come back, warlock."

Tucking it into the pocket of his pants, he chuckled, surprised by her unexpected message. Dressing himself, he said to no one in particular, "I wasn't going to, witch."

. . .

"Ah… Now this is interesting…"

"What is?"

Alexei leaned forward in his chair, eager to hear the elderly woman's counsel. By the light of the singular lantern in the large, incense-scented tent, he glanced at the woman seated besides him, who was busy ignoring the meeting going on under her nose by eating pizza at an alarmingly inhuman speed (it seemed as if she were inhaling the slices; the only thing that interrupted her progress in any way were the occasional sneeze or cough from her. The boy wasn't sure whether he should be concerned or impressed. Maybe a mixture of both?)

With hands aged with wrinkles, time, and dotted with liver spots, the gypsy's talon-like nails glittered in the dim lighting as she explained with a heavy Romanian lilt, "This particular card is the Emperor. He signifies power, authority. Experience. Wisdom, among intellectual heights, determination, action, initiative, leadership. A very formidable and influential person. Although... Hmm... At times overconfident. Overbearing. Selfish. Tries to be patient, but at certain times, impatient and short-tempered... Do you know any men with those characteristics, young woman?"

"Why?" she questioned in turn. The boy with keen cerise irises was surprised; she had actually been paying attention all this time?

"Well, since you've drawn this card, it means that there is someone significant in your life, whether it be a friend, or a lover, or an acquaintance, with those specific attributes. Is there?"

"… Yes."

"Hmmm, interesting. Quite interesting. Now, this next card- oh my."

C2, feigning ignorance, continued to munch on her pizza, but continued to eavesdrop on the conversation. The farmer besides her politely inquired to be informed as to why the gypsy was so surprised, who vaguely replied with, "The Knight of Cups. Oh, this is quite- How wonderful."

The witch, having grown restless, said, "Stop sidestepping and tell us what's so wonderful."

The grandmother's startlingly bright blue eyes flickered up to the immortal before answering with, "It seems your Emperor, whoever he is, has transformed into the Knight of Cups. And the Knight of Cups appears only when one is being courted by a special someone. It appears to me that your Emperor, who was once attracted to logic, order, and organization, has now thrown away all of those things so as to romance you. How fortunate you are…"

The emerald-haired woman scoffed before rising from her chair. Alexei looked up and asked, "Where are you going?"

"You're a _fake_. It's impossible for a man such as he to part from his beloved structures and rationalization. He's the most uptight-"

"Love can change a man," the reader simply countered.

"Not this man," replied she. And before either could stop her, she strode out of the tent. The gypsy merely hummed before mumbling, "How sorry I feel for the poor child. She's in denial."

"… Could you please read me the last card?" requested the boy with rose-colored locks. Sapphire irises blinked at him before narrowing out of suspicion.

"You're not the man she was speaking of… Are you?"

"No, but I feel that she should know. I'll tell her in your stead."

"… Very well. The last card- Oh my. My goodness, what fortune that young lady has, to draw _this_ card out of them all."

"Why?"

She glanced up at him with a look as if asking if he were stupid, before saying, "What else can it mean? Is it not self-explanatory? The Lovers is the _ultimate_ card for love; it represents a unique bond, an unfathomably deep connection, between two people. Its very presence in the reading reflects an extremely authentic relationship, one that has been built on mutual trust and respect. But what more, it is the symbol of undying love, of immortal endearment. My, my, what fortune she owns… Never before have I had a reading like this. Mind you, don't forget to tell her, boy. She deserves to know of her destiny."

"Yes ma'am. Thank you."

"Thank _you_. It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Paying the reader her fee, Alexei ducked out of the gypsy's multi-colored tent to search for the woman who had decided to run off to who-knows-where. Sighing, he glanced up at the sky to see it darkening with the message of a rapidly approaching summer storm. Where could she be? There weren't many places she could have escaped to.

As he wandered through the streets searching for a glimpse of those brilliant emerald tresses, he remembered the shadow of a smile he had caught on the woman's face before she stormed out. Tugging on his thin beige shirt, he couldn't help but grin; he knew what kind of smile that was. He had seen it al the time all of those years ago, when he had teased and played with _her_. The one he had been searching for for over a decade.

It was a smile of secret happiness.

"I hope you go back to him, C2, whoever he is, and tell him the truth."

And, shoving his hands into his pockets, he decided to give up and find shelter from the oncoming storm. He would just tell her when he saw her again, whenever that moment would be.

. . .

The witch, having bolted from the truth, slowed down near the edge of the town. Doubled over from hacking fits of coughing, she caught her breath before muttering how stupid the farm boy and the tarot reader was. What was it that the gypsy had said? That Lelouch had been romancingher? If cursing at her, scowling at her, lecturing her, and generally being a disagreeable prick towards her was his way of romancing her, then the boy was in need of some serious reeducation on how to court a woman. There was absolutely no way _he_…

But then she remembered all of the other times, how he always baked pizza for her, how he joked around with her, how he understood her like no one else had ever cared to before, how he was actually willing to be with her despite the way she treated him, and…

Her shoulders fell and her expression softened as she thought of the raven-haired man and the way he smiled (well, it was more often a smirk than a smile, really) at her. She had to give him credit (as grudgingly done as it was) for everything he had done (even if it every thing he had done hadn't been perfect, or even a good idea in the first place).

Sneezing, she said, "… You know, your master isn't a bad man, Antonius. You should be more loyal to him. After all, he works so hard to make sure you're comfortable and happy."

She paused for a moment in her lecture, as if she were thinking, before adding in a much quieter voice, "… He works so hard to make sure I'm comfortable and happy… Doesn't he?"

The gelding merely nuzzled her hand, seeking more treats from her generous pockets. Rubbing his nose, she murmured, "The fool… Doesn't he know that he doesn't have to do that anymore?"

A cold drop of water falling onto her hand broke her reverie. She stared as it crawled down the length of her slender middle finger before diving to the ground below. Another one quickly followed, soon joined by another and another and another. Antonius whickered, and she answered with a faint smile.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe we should go home. Come along, Antonius. It's time to return to that foolish warlock of yours."

And, rubbing her eyes to free herself of her strangely blurry vision, they started off towards their new home."

. . .

Lelouch looked out at the far horizon, his hands clasping the quilt that had been blown dry by the gentle summer breeze. Dusk was upon the orange grove already, and far beyond the red sun, he spotted enormous, black thunderclouds swirling together, an ominous and foreboding miasma. His concerned amethyst eyes glanced to the orchard's entrance, only to narrow with anxiety upon discovering no hint of the witch's arrival.

Where the hell was the woman? She knew that the monsoons in the area were as violent and dangerous as they were sudden and abrupt, and yet, she didn't rush home. If she were to be caught in one…

He viewed the options that lay before him and, with his mind busying him with calculations, he hurriedly folded the comforter and carelessly placed it into the wicker laundry basket. Carrying it inside, he shut all of the windows and doors that had been opened to let the old house breathe again.

The immortal nervously waited for her, the tension in his mind and body growing with each passing second. Pacing back and forth, he clenched his hands (after ceasing to wring them to the point of nearly breaking his fingers) and stepped out of the cottage, when an impressive clap of thunder rang overhead. The heavens immediately opened up as if on cue and graced him with a torrent so fast and so much, he could barely see three feet in front of him. Backing inside, he struggled to recover from the frigid onslaught of pelting raindrops and to maintain a firm grasp on his fear.

It wasn't going very well.

As all manners of worst-case scenarios flashed through his head, each more deadly than the last, the heartless critic slapped him awake.

She would be alright. She would be fine, she was an _immortal witch_, for God's sake. There was no need to be so… So… There was no need for anything, they yelled at him.

Frowning, he cowardly chose to listen to nothing but the lame excuses in his head. He turned his back on the door and marched upstairs so as to change out of his drenched clothes and begin to prepare the pizza he knew his partner would be searching for.

. . .

The door swung open with a bang and cascades of rain splattered all over the dully shining terracotta flooring. Lelouch, without looking up from the pot of aromatic pizza sauce he had been perfecting on the stove, said, "Did you put Antonius away in the stable?"

When there was no reply, he glanced up, his face twisted in irritation, but when he saw the incredible state the witch was in… The twinge of annoyance melted. He was about to ask if she was alright, when she weakly breathed, "… Le… Lelouch…" And before he could even open his mouth to question what was wrong, she slumped to the ground, the world already dark to her eyes before her head even hit the floor.

**A/N: Cue dramatic music. So what'd you think? Please only constructive criticism (if it's really that bad). Thank you very much, and thanks so much to everyone for favoriting/following this fanfiction. Until next time~**

**A/N II: My thanks to MagnetoRocks, for pointing out one of my mistakes. Went ahead and fixed it :)**


	4. Blossoms and Smiles of Secret Happiness

**A/N: You know; colds mean not being exactly right in the head, which means character warping… Sorry~ I hope it's not **_**too**_** bad though. I tried my hardest. And I hope it paid off!**

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

Chapter Four

Pressing his cool palm lightly on her flushed cheeks, Lelouch found her to be feverish even after an entire day of rest. He sighed, running his hand through his hair before leaning back into the rocking chair. Closing his eyes, a flurry of memories from the past two days bombarded him, and he grimaced at the panicked recollection.

C2 had collapsed as soon as she had stepped into the warm shelter of the cottage. Alarmed, he had taken her upstairs to their bedroom, and, without delay, immediately changed her out of her sodden dress and into one of her numerous silk nightgowns. Somehow, one way or other, he managed to dry her. Tucking her into bed, he took up his vigil by her side. From time to time, he would check on her fever, or give her a sip of water, or try to make her eat something, medicine, food, _anything_, but it was no use. She only threw it back up. Now and again, he'd be muddied with her vomit, but if he were to be honest, Lelouch didn't particularly concern himself with the way he was being victimized by her sickness.

He only wanted her to be well again.

He had gone out, once, to make sure Antonius was still alive and in one piece after the terrible journey (that seemed like had been made during what felt like the summer's worst tempest yet), but usually… Usually, day and night, he lingered indoors. Neglecting the work to be done, he was rooted by the bed, sitting in a chair and occupying his time with his 'secret' project. Every so often, he would get up to go to the kitchen, or perhaps the bathroom, but generally, he stayed in his seat. Patiently waiting. Patiently nursing her back to health. Patiently hoping for her to open her eyes.

"Lelouch."

His eyes snapped open as he jerked awake. Nearly stumbling out of the rocking chair, he tightly gripped the armrests as he struggled to adjust to the way night had fallen during his nap.

"Why are you sleeping there, Lelouch?"

"How long have you been up?"

"For an eternity," she replied sarcastically. But when she saw his expression, she quietly answered, "Not that long ago. Maybe a minute or two."

"Do you want something to eat?"

She shook her head. Staring at each other by the light of the moon, the two were held silent under a powerful enchantment, until the witch whispered, "Why weren't you sleeping in the bed? Were you afraid you'd fall ill?"

His tongue seemed unable to move, and she murmured, "Why don't you get into bed and sleep comfortably for once?"

"… I thought men slept on the floor," he weakly joked. Rising, he bit back a groan as his stiff muscles screamed their protests. Gold glimmered with ire as she coldly snapped, "Then do as you see fit."

"Move over," he told her. For once, she complied and made room for him on the large mattress. As he gingerly lay down, she kept her eyes on the ceiling before saying, "What happened?"

"That's what I'd like to ask you. You go to the village for half a day and then return in the middle of a violent storm, only to collapse on the doorstep. You were feverish for two days, not to mention the vomiting. What did you do in town? I haven't been this agitated since the Black Rebellion."

C2, remembering what the gypsy woman had divulged about the raven-haired man, turned onto her side so that her back was facing him. Her partner noticed her somewhat awkward shifting but made no comment about it. Instead, he softly called for her attention.

"Hey."

"What?" she said, her reply muffled by the blanket.

"… Are you alright?"

"Why would I not be?"

"… You were having a lot of…" he hesitated, not sure how to describe the phenomena. "… You were having a lot of 'those' dreams while you were sick."

"… Was I?"

The conversation lulled to a halt, and Lelouch was on the verge of inquiring whether she wanted to talk about anything, to vent it out, when he felt her hand slip into his. Surprised, his breath hitched, but the gentleman that he was, refrained from making any snide remarks. They remained still, their hands loosely clasped together, when she broke the silence. He was nearly asleep, but when he heard her voice, grasped onto the last inkling of wakeful consciousness.

"Just in case."

Lacing their fingers securely, he squeezed her hand once, as if saying, 'I understand.'

The witch smiled into her pillow before closing her eyes, her fear of incubi chased away by her one and only…

Companion.

. . .

"Lelouch?"

C2 sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from her bleary eyes. Her left hand felt strangely lonely, and she defiantly closed it into a fist. There was no need for her hand to feel lonely; it had only been a night of holding hands for her sake, so she could sleep. Nothing more, nothing less. There was no need to feel so-

_'C2, we ran out of medicine, so I'm going to town to restock. I baked calzone for your breakfast; try to keep it in your stomach instead of throwing it back up. I'll be back soon withstanding any complications, which there shouldn't be, so there's no need to chastise me for leaving when I come back.'_

_ -L._

"I can't save you if your identity is found out, boy," she muttered. Leaning forward, she reached for her breakfast, which had been sitting quietly on a tray on the bedside table, when she heard…

Heavy footsteps.

Was Lelouch already back? But no; the tread of the person, whoever it was, sounded far too heavy for the lanky, scrawny, lightweight immortal. So who…?

"C2?"

The unexpected visitor revealed their identity by ducking into the bedroom. Seeing who it was, the emerald-haired woman frowned. What was _he_ doing here?"

. . .

Tugging the black cloth halfway up to the bridge of his nose, Lelouch rode into the hectic village. Although it was early morning and the sun hadn't risen but half an hour ago, men, women, and children of al ages were swarming here and there. Yelling, laugh, smiling, they created an impressive racket that seemed much too large for the secluded hamlet.

But the noise level wasn't what had caught the warlock's attention.

No; it was the _affection_.

As he wended his way through the tight cobblestone streets, he couldn't help but notice the countless couples who were happily giggling and chattering together. Especially the young lovers, the pairs who looked to be near his own age. Soon enough, he found his mind wandering, idle questions floating into his head.

What would it feel like to love and be loved?

What would it feel like to love her and be loved by her?

Clenching his hands into fists out of self-irritation, he dismounted from the horse. The ridiculous vantage point was distracting him from the task at hand, was distracting him from returning home as soon as possible. C2 was sick, _indisposed_, and it wouldn't do to leave someone ill unatten-

"Ah, you seem like a healthy young lad in need of some company. Come, come, son, and I'll soon match you up with the prettiest girl there- Oh _my, who do we have here_?"

The second he had gotten out of his saddle, a middle-aged housewife, who clearly looked to be a busybody, accosted him. Roughly taking hold of his arm in a vice-grip, she had (in his defense, before he could escape or do anything to impede the unstoppable force) promptly ripped his mask off. The moment the lower half of his face was exposed, the Britannian reached for the villager's forehead so as to send a myriad of chaotic, confusing hallucinations into her mind, when he noticed…

"My goodness, Deirdre! Deirdre, look what I found! The prettiest boy there's to be seen for miles on end! What luck I have, what luck I have! What's your name, boy?"

How could she not recognize who he was? Perhaps this was a trap; maybe they were going to incarcerate him before shipping him off to Pendragon, where they would execute him, to display him for the entire world to see so that the truth of his death was shared, maybe-

"Oi. Oi, what's wrong? Why do you look so pale all of a sudden? Nervous to meet one of our girls? Don't worry, boy; they're all friendly, friendly people; slow to frown and quick to laugh. You'll enjoy their company, that's for sure; there's not been one lad who's refu-"

"I'm going to have to decline your… Generous offer. I'm already in a relationship with-"

"Son, it's not love if you're going to be so uptight about declaring your-"

"I can't be a part of your business. I already have someone I love." He tried to resist, but the portly woman was his superior by far when it came to physical strength. Gritting his teeth out of frustration, Lelouch dug his heels into the ground. If worst came to worst, then he'd have no choice but to use his powers on her to-

"I promise you, we have nice girls, lovely girls that'll suit your tas-"

"No one will ever be able to match her in terms of compatibility. Now let go. At once!"

Realizing how a crowd had started to gather around the young man and the persistent woman, she released him at once, grumbling how, as pretty as he was, he wasn't worth the trouble what with his short temper. Straightening his vest indignantly, Lelouch immediately climbed onto Antonius.

Rather shaken, he bolted down the streets. He had momentarily forgotten how dangerous women could be. It'd serve him well to keep in mind just how much of a menace they could be; he wouldn't dark rise going through anything like _that_ again.

. . .

"Ah, so you've fallen ill?"

"As you can see," she replied. Jeremiah Gottwald, halving his attention, nodded as he gazed all around, evidently impressed. For being here only two days, his lord had done incredibly well. There wasn't a speck of dust to be found; the windows and doors were all free from their wooden bounds, and the house itself seemed to be spotless (save for the disarray in the living room, but that was understandable). And (apparently) it seemed as if his master had been getting along famously with the immortal. He could tell by the-

"Why did you come here, Jeremiah? Wouldn't Nunnally and Suzaku become suspicious of your disappearance?"

"I came under the pretense of making a delivery."

"And?"

"And?" He furrowed his brows. Was there a question he had missed?

"How are they doing? Your beloved lord and master will want to know how his precious younger sister and best friend are doing, and I wouldn't mind hearing myself… Save for being educated on every single infinitesimal detail. Just the general picture will be enough for me."

"Ah… They're doing very well. Her Majesty seemed a little worn out from the trip, since Helia is quite far from the Imperial Palace, but otherwise… What is it?"

C2 had been eyeing him strangely ever since he had begun his narration, and it was making the cyborg want to fidget in his seat nervously. He knew that his master, as powerful and intellectual as he was, avoided the woman at times out of aversion to her penchant for blowing things out of proportion (for her amusement), and if his master was put on edge… Then Jeremiah Gottwald certainly was.

"… Nothing. Go on; what adventures has Nunnally had so far?"

"Yesterday afternoon, she visited the-"

"Hello?"

The interruption to the conversation instantaneously drew the pair's attention towards one of the several bedside windows that had been left ajar. Upon C2's gesture, the farmer rose to investigate who the (second) unexpected visitor was.

"There's a young man standing in front of the door. Shall I send him away?"

"No. I know people like him to be the persistent sort. Show him upstairs."

As he obediently left, the immortal leaned back into the soft mountain of pillows. Nibbling on her breakfast, she sighed.

What did the boy want now?

But more importantly, when was Lelouch going to return?

. . .

"Dried Yarrow, peppermint, chamomile, nettle leaf, and ginger, a pound of each."

"What're you planning to do with all of those herbs, son? Trying to smoke yourself some courage to ask some lass out on a date?"

Pursing his lips, Lelouch repeated in a slightly more brusquer tone, "Dried yarrow, peppermint, chamomile, nettle-"

"Alright, son, alright. Yeesh, no girl'll want to meet you with an attitude like that. If you ask _me-_"

"You're the second person to mention relationships to me. Why is that?"

The bespectacled grandfather looked up at him from behind his wire frame glasses, completely caught off-guard.

"You mean to tell me you don't know? Where've you been living, under a rock? It's the annual 'Varna Matchmaking Festival, lad. Isn't that why you cam here to our humble town? Now let me tell you, we 'Varnians aren't much for worldly things, like money or politics- which reminds me… I don't mean to brag, but y'know, our townsfolk, they didn't really care none about that Demon Emperor from Britannia. What was his name again? Leloo… Lee… It was some weird name or other. Regardless of what his name was, we didn't care about him at all! Why waste any breath on him, I always said. And everyone here agrees with me. Why, if he walked into that doorway, we'd never know 'til he climbed up the chapel's belfry and screamed who he was at the top of his lungs. Then we'd just call him crazy, no matter _what_ his mother named him. And you know what? He died! S'good thing we never cared; would have wasted our energy on something that only lasted for a short time. But anyways, as I was saying earlier…"

The young man tuned out the herbalist with a well-practiced expression of feigned attention as he waited for his packages of organic medicine.

So that was why no one had screamed or yelled when the woman had unmasked him… They didn't know his face. They had no clue what the face of his past looked like, the face of the demon who had dictated over them all…

He wanted to laugh out loud at the absurdity of his fortune. How, out of all the villages in the entire world, had he the luck to live in the one place that cared not a whit for the Bastard Emperor of Britannia? Were such circumstances even possible? Or perhaps this was all a dream, and-

"Here you are, son. That'll be 21€.

Handing the necessary bills over the wooden counter, Lelouch gathered up the quintet of packets and placed them snugly into his leather satchel. Bidding the elderly man a hasty farewell, he was about to stride out into the sunlight, when he heard a, "Young man!"

"What is it?"

"Make sure to buy your sweetheart a gift. Even a single blossom will suffice to remind her how you love her. You can never do with enough reminders of being loved."

"… I'll keep that in mind," he muttered before making his escape. When the door swung shut behind him, the townsman merely shook his head, chuckling, "You'll soon realize, boy. When you find the right woman… Then you'll realize."

. . .

"Wow, it actually looks livable here… You know, when I was younger, I used to pass by here on the way to school, and I always thought that ghosts haunted this place or something. But now it actually looks like people could live here."

Eyes wide as saucers, Alexei peered into every nook and cranny of the bedroom, completely and utterly bewitched by the transformation. C2, more than just slightly bothered by the boy's presence, coldly asked, "What do you want, Alexei?"

"I came to deliver a message. As soon as I do, I'll be out of your hair. So, you know, there's no need to glare at me like that."

"A message? I don't have any business with anyone in-"

"Ah, well… You walked out in the middle of our little… Consultation session yesterday, and I thought it would only be right if you got to know the bit you missed. Especially since I paid for it. But, uh, C2?"

"What is it?" Deciding to pay him only the barest amount of attention possible, she picked up the needle and thread she had hidden in the drawer of the bedside table. Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized the stitching; it had to be absolutely perfect, lest she wanted to suffer ridicule at the hand of-

The young man leaned forward and (rather audibly) whispered, "Is that your beau over there by the door? Because if he is, then I'd prefer if he gave us some room, because I don't mean to create any awkward tension between the two of-"

"Jeremiah is not my 'beau', nor is the man whom you are thinking of my lover in any way, shape, or form, and Jeremiah, get out immediately."

"What?" Surprised, the orange farmer stared at the bedridden woman, who waved a hand at him tiredly. When he didn't move, her gestures became more urgent and her frown deeper. The cyborg, fearing what might happen if he upset the witch, broke free from petrifaction's hold and hurriedly excused himself. When the door closed quietly behind him, she demurely folded her hands in her lap and said, "Now. What did I miss yesterday?"

. . .

"Goat meat, goat meat, come get the tastiest goat meat this side of the river!"

"Butter and milk, milk and butter, the sweetest milk and butter!"

"Flowers! Roses, tulips, daisies, and lilies! Sweet peas, violets, poppies, and primroses! I've got the freshest flowers to prettify your darling ladylove!"

"Chicken cutlets, hot and delicious chicken cutlets!"

Lelouch, keeping one hand protectively on the flap of his bag and the other tightly wrapped in his stallion's rein, carefully waded through the gurgling stream of villagers. Grateful he had trained Antonius well, the horse and master picked their way down the crowded streets, when he heard, "Earrings, necklaces, and bracelets! Beautiful hair combs, accessories so pretty even the First Lady would be jealous of! Come get your- Ack!"

And before he could even consider backing out of the way, a young girl of no more than 13 years old seemed to come flying out of nowhere. Startled, the Britannian flinched as he stumbled backwards. The impenetrable river of people behind fought back, and soon enough, the immortal found that _he_ was sprawled all over _her _(whoever she was).

Flustered, he moved to straighten up and quickly walk away from the crime scene (he had been a prince after all, and princes did not, under any circumstances, throw themselves onto anyone, much less a member of the opposite gender), when a hand yanked on his wrist. Dread slunk and sidled into even the furthermost corners of his heart as pure sapphire clashed with wary amethyst. Blinking up at him, the young girl squinted before her eyes widened with surprise. Excited, she began to bounce up an down on the balls of her feet, all the while uttering those fearful words.

"Hey! I know you!"

. . .

C2 sat quietly, her mind heavy with contemplation. The messenger shifted in his seat, cautious to maintain silence so as to give the lady the space she needed to wrap her head around what he had just told her. A minute ticked by, soon followed by another, another minute hot on its heels, when she finally spoke.

"Things such as tarot readings are illusions that should be thrown away."

"I agree that they're illusions, but to be thrown away? Even if it's a lie, it's nice to have something to believe in."

"Then one should choose to believe in something that is true, something that's real. Not something as fickle as-"

"Then why don't you choose to believe in him? And your heart?"

Ethereal golden orbs flickered towards his innocent face. He flinched, surprised by how ancient her regal gaze seemed to be. It drank him in thirstily; it gave him the impression that she was desperately scavenging for something, something to save the woman, something to shelter her, to carry a soul who had grown too tired to even stand.

Alexei opened his mouth to offer a shoulder to lean on, or an ear that was willing to listen and lips offering to voice counsel, but… She beat him to it.

"Jeremiah, escort this young man out at once."

The formidable man promptly entered the bedroom. Rose-colored locks glinting in the bright late-morning sunlight, the farm boy rose from his chair. If she wanted to be alone, then who was he to begrudge her peace? He turned to leave, flashing a smile of compliance towards the former nobleman, but before stepping outside…

He stopped and said, "… He left you a flower, by the way. He must've put it in your hair while you were sleeping or something. If you didn't know it was there all this time, that is."

As he left, shoving his hands into his pockets and whistling a cheerful tune, C2 reached up with a dainty hand. True to his words, she could feel the velvety, snow-white petals of an orange blossom, the textured golden anthers and pistils reaching for the sunbeams dancing through the sheer curtains, the pleasant tickle of a citrus fragrance. She blinked one, twice, and then three times, as if she weren't able to fully comprehend reality. And then…

A small smile appeared.

Hand delicately curling around the note he had left her, the witch began her wait for the return of the warlock.

. . .

"You're the poor guy Mumsy nearly roped in, aren't you? Whew, you're pretty lucky if you managed to escape from one of her- Hey! I told you to stop already, didn't I?"

The perky blonde shook her fist and stamped her foot on the ground at the sight of a gang of uproariously laughing teenage boys. Having upset her cart, they had cowardly run off after granting her merchandise another showering of sharp pebbles. Sighing, she mussed her bangs in vexation while saying, "Sorry about running into you earlier. Jonathon and his friends can be a real pain sometimes, and with my clumsiness…" She shrugged, her helpless grin finishing her sentence for her.

Lelouch, feeling sorry for the child (well, it was more because she reminded him of his younger sister (probably because of her eyes), and not that he felt sympathy for her), politely asked, "Would you like help in cleaning up?"

"Oh, it's okay. You don't have any obligation to, and I can't really pay-"

"I don't expect any sort of payment," he replied curtly. "And it'd be faster with four hands, instead of two."

"Oh. Well… Thank you," she smiled. Crouching down besides him, the young vendor swiftly gathered the scattered ornamentations. Antonius, noticing that his master was making a small detour on the journey back home, trotted to the side of the road to get out of people's way, nearly crushing a pearl breastpin in the process. Snatching it up before the heavy hoof came swooping down, the raven-haired man questioned, "Wouldn't it be better to sell goods like these in a store?"

"Mumsy's a milkmaid, though she really fancies herself to be a matchmaker, and Papa's a jeweler. When the town gets really busy like this, Papa sends me out to vend the leftovers from last season's shipments. They're not as valuable as you think, but thanks for suggesting. Name's Deirdre by the way. You?"

"… Julius." The immortal internally grimaced. Julius? Why had he chosen _that_ cursed title out of all the possible names in the world?

"I'm going to assume you're not from around here, Julius. This is Lisdoonvarna. It's small, and we're not as refined as, say, Limerick, but we're a friendly lot, and we're willing to share what little we have, so long as you don't betray us, or hurt us, or anything like that, but you seem like a nice guy, so I doubt anyone'll hate you, oh yeah, I just remembered, you have a girlfriend, right, why don't you give this to her?"

Dazed from the tsunami of chatter spilling from her mouth, Lelouch blinked before finding the ability to respond.

"W-what?"

"As my thanks for helping me. I told you I can't give you any money, but I _can_ give you this. I made it. Don't you think it's pretty?"

He stared at the fine-tooth comb lying in her small, pale hand. Carved from rich umber wood, fabric roses dyed soft lavender and ivory elegantly graced the work of art. For a split second, in his mind's eye, the warlock imagined what it would look like sitting in the witch's lustrous, silky tresses. He didn't particularly concern himself with fashion as his half-siblings had, or even the immortal woman herself, but he could see it all perfectly; lavender and ivory perfectly complementing emerald, a smile on her lips as she-

"You can take it and give it to your girlfriend."

"I can't-"

"I want you to. Here," she quickly placed it into his bag. "Give it to her, and then come back and tell me what happened. I live above Kingston's Jewelers, so just pop by for a cup of tea or something, and you can tell me all about it. If you want, you can even bring your girlfriend with you. I won't mind if you do. I promise I'll keep Mumsy away from the both of you."

"H-hey-"

But she had already stood up. Dusting off her dress and animatedly waving, she slipped out of his grasp and allowed herself to be swallowed by the constantly-shifting stream of people. Running his hand through his hair, Lelouch sighed.

What was with this village?

. . .

"My lord!"

"Jeremiah? What are you doing here?"

Dismounting, the raven-haired man frowned. Wouldn't Nunnally and Suzaku notice his absence? More so because he was the apparent master of the plantation?"

"I wished to see if I could be of any assistance. My lord, perhaps-"

"Jeremiah, it is imperative that you focus on your assigned task. Failure to do so could potentially result in the compromise of the Zero Requiem. And if that happens… What becomes of all the blood I've shed?"

"My apologies, Master Lelouch. My thinking was not thorough enough, and I-"

"It's fine," he waved him off. Removing the heavy leather saddle and bridle from the tired steed, he properly put away the tack as Jeremiah groomed Antonius. Pouring clean water into his trough, his owner instructed, "Just make sure Suzaku and Nunnally don't suspect anything."

"Yes, my lord."

"How is Nunnally? Has she been eating well? What about water? She never drank enough water in my opinion. A girl her age should be drinking at least 54 ounces of-"

"Her Majesty enjoys full health and happiness. It is evident that the Knight of Zero has been serving as an excellent guardian and taking excellent care to see that she is safe, unburdened by sickness and depression, and that she drinks enough fluids."

"… As expected of Suzaku." There was a pause in the interrogation as younger of the two released his gelding out onto the pasture. As they made their way to the (somewhat untended) cottage, he resumed the (rather intense) questioning.

"But how _is_ she doing? Was there anything strange you noticed about her? When we were younger, she would have difficulty falling asleep from time to time, and…"

Jeremiah politely listened to his master ranting about his beloved younger sister, occasionally interjecting with answers to his infinite inquiries. When they stepped into the shade of the kitchen, Lelouch momentarily deviated from his most favorite subject in the world to say, "Ah, there _is_ a benefit that can be drawn from your call. The first day here, the part of the ceiling caved in. I moved the majority of the furniture, but the bed has been sitting in the living room for some time. I've done calculations, and it's a two man job at the least, but with your physical prowess and the enhancements Schneizel so graciously gifted you… Can I trust you, Jeremiah?"

"Yes, my lord!"

Happy to protect his master's hands from dirtying themselves with demanding and arduous manual labor, the cyborg hurriedly set to work. As he paced around the obtrusive piece of furniture, the other half of the pair climbed the stairs to check on his patient.

. . .

"You're up."

"Why do you sound so surprised?" she questioned, her voice coated in suspicion. Hands a blur, C2 stared hard into her lap, her brows furrowed in concentration. Setting down his bag on the dresser, the warlock unbuttoned his vest as he explained, "You usually don't get up from bed until late in the afternoon."

"Oh, I _wake up_ early enough. I just don't _get out of bed_ until I feel I'm prepared to face the day. Sometimes, it takes longer than anticipated."

He should have known better than to expect a normal conversation with the woman.

"Did you get everything you were looking for?"

"I did. Actually, I also acquired-"

"Come here and snap this off for me."

Amethyst flickered towards the sole occupant of the bed and saw that she was holding a thin thread of gold between her slender fingers. Confused, he dumbly asked, "With what?"

"Scissors, fingers, teeth. It doesn't matter, just snap it off for me."

"Give it here," he sighed.

"Absolutely not. You don't know how to hold this; if I give it to you, you'll only undo all of my work. Learn to be flexible, Lelouch, and just snap it like this."

His lips a thin line, he strode towards her. Kneeling on the mattress, he held onto her wrists, muttering, "Hold still" before clamping his teeth around the thread.

. . .

Hearing a crashing sound from up above, Jeremiah started. What had happened? What was going on the second floor? Was Master Lelouch being attacked? Perhaps he

should…

. . .

C2 thanked him with a well-aimed (although light) smack to the back of his head.

"_Weak_."

Sprawled all over her lap, his muffled retort was a cold, "I told you to hold still."

"Thread snaps better if I pull in the opposite direction."

"Yes, but you should have warned me, witch, _as proper courtesy mandates_."

"I am the exception to every rule," she sniffed. And with that, she shoved him off of the bed. Groaning, he darkly said under his breath, "I don't even know why I went to town to buy medicinal herbs. You seem perfectly fine and well to me."

"Speaking of which… Weren't you saying that something happened during your trip?"

"… I don't feel any immediate need to tell you."

"Oh? Is that a challenge I hear?"

"It certainly is _not_. Where, amongst those nine words, was there a _challenge_ of any sort? I-"

Gagging on a mouthful of pillow, he stared at the woman, who had (just the night before) _insisted_ on holding his hand through the night to help fight off her nightmares, who was now perched on his abdomen in a very hostile (and somewhat unnerving) manner. Threatening to cuff him with her cherished amorphous plushie, her eyes glinted maliciously as she growled, "Tell me what happened. I want to know. _Now_."

Lelouch shut his eyes, cursing his fortune. Exactly what crime had he committed to receive this kind of punishment?

. . .

"… I thought a hair comb would serve you better than an orange blossom, since the former usually lasts far longer."

"Hmm…"

"It was totally unnecessary on your part to resort to physical methods to get me to inform you. I was planning on telling you regardless."

"Mmhmm…"

"… Do you like it?"

She turned her attention from her reflection in the mirror to her companion, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and licking his wounds. Back straight and hands folded over her stomach like any proper Edwardian young lady would, she flirtatiously purred, "What do you think? Does it suit me?"

The question hadn't been a serious one, so when she received her answer, she was surprised by its sincerity.

"Yes."

And for the third time that morning, the witch's smile of secret happiness bloomed upon her rosebud lips.

**A/N: Um… Same old spiel. I hope you enjoyed that chapter. Reviews are greatly appreciated (only constructive criticism please), and I hope you're looking forward to the fifth installment! ~Until next time!**


	5. Hats, Halos, and Flying Sparks

**A/N: Um, well, the usual. I hope this installment is also in-character (God, that would totally suck if it weren't), and please excuse any errors (although if you could point them out, that'd be great, thanks, it's like 5 in the morning right now). And… I'm sorry it took so long. On top of that, it's not as long as the other chapters. I'm sorry. But I do hope you like it. Oh God… I really do hope you like… Oh, urgh, I have a bad feeling about this…**

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property. Nor the song mentioned below.**

Chapter Five

C2 snapped the last of the threads off before carefully inspecting her craftsmanship. Her skill had diminished from its former prime and glory to an extent, but that was understandable, considering how it had been nearly two _centuries_ since the mere thought of weaving crossed her mind. Of course, it didn't really matter what _her _judgment was; it was really more of _his_ that was important. Fingering the cream-colored, intricate braids of the wide-brimmed hat, she wondered what his reaction would be when she presented her work to him. Would he smile? Would he be impressed? What if he laughed at her, or sneered? If he so much as smirked, she decided not to be merciful. After all, she had put so much time and care into this. Oh, but she did hope he would smile. Perhaps even (heaven forbid he didn't) _like_ it.

A foreign sensation of fluttering settled in the pit of her stomach as she delicately set the hat down on the bedside table. Moving to the edge of the comfortable mattress, she set her bare feet down on the cool wooden floor. She had been virtually chained to the bed for two days now (it had been a terrible cold; the worst she had ever experienced in her lengthy lifetime), and it was high time that she start to walk about again.

Slipping out from underneath the gossamer quilt, she ambled to the bathroom. Glancing back at the clock, the witch made an impulsive decision. Lelouch was a man of ritual; he liked his structuring and his organization. He wasn't due to come inside to begin making lunch until a full two and a half more hours passed, which was more than enough time for her to complete her surprise. Surprisingly lighthearted (despite the mountain of work she had laid out for herself), C2 found herself humming as she unbuttoned her companion's dress shirt.

Oh, she couldn't wait to see his face.

. . .

Worn out, Lelouch let the hammer slip from his gloved hand to plummet to the ground with a defeated thud. Ever since yesterday afternoon, his renovation project had moved on from the interior of the plantation's residency to the pasture's fence, and it was growing more and more apparent with each passing minute that the workload _was hell-bent on killing him_. Deteriorated wood lay splintered _everywhere_, and with the pasture being one of ridiculous and unnecessary monstrosity…

He admitted he had somewhat paled when he had first come toe-to-toe with the daunting task.

Even with Jeremiah's assistance yesterday, the task had (according to his mental calculations) _less than 50%_ completed. He began to wonder if he should just surrender to the limitations of his physical prowess and enlist the aid of the older man, when he heard a curious, "What are you doing?"

"Fixing the fence," he replied absentmindedly. Picking up the fallen hammer with a heavy heart, Lelouch glanced at his watch. He had been so absorbed into the task of reconstruction, he had lost track of time. Had the witch come to complain about the lack of preparations for her afternoon meal? Why, just this once, couldn't _she_-

"It doesn't look like you're fixing the fence. It looks more like you sitting there on your haunches with an ugly scowl on your face."

Not even bothering to make eye contact, he returned his attention to the project at hand, when she (amiably, which surprised him) questioned, "Aren't you hot?"

"I don't know," he muttered irritably. In truth, he was perspiring through his clothes right now, nor was it particularly helpful that he had no shade from the merciless sun. For God's sake, he didn't even his damn ha-

Something landed on his head and nettled amethyst irises shot up from the planks of wood lying by his feet, only to be startled to discover that his vision was partially blocked by…

By the brim of a hat.

"I made it," he heard her coolly explain, "But it's been some time since I've done any weaving, and I got the size wrong. It's too big for me, and I have no use for it. So you can have it."

Lelouch refrained from making any comments about the hat's size (which seemed to fit him _perfectly_), nor made any remarks on how, when C2 had been sick and he had been searching for clothes to change her into, found the very same (although unfinished) hat lying on the floor of the wardrobe, along with his very old, very muddy, and very worn hat. Instead, he lowered his gaze so that he was studying the individual blades of grass to veil his face as he fought to hide a smile. When enough time had passed for him to keep a sure enough grasp on his voice, he slowly asked, "How long did it take for you to make this?"

"Four months," she said matter-of-factly.

"One hat in four months?" His smile boyishly widened upon hearing her answer; so she had been planning this for _four months_ _at the least_. The devilish woman… How could he expect to hold up his already crumbling wall against her if she did something like this? She was set out to destroy him; she must be working in conjunction with the goddamn fence.

"It's a toquilla straw hat," she retorted acidly. "Four months is an incredibly short amount of time for this sort of hat."

"Hmm…"

"You're not even going to thank me?" He glanced at her impatiently tapping shoe and resisted the urge to laugh at her trademark childishness.

"Every time I wear it, it will be like saying thank you, C2. Therefore, it's not necessary for me to say it out loud when I'm wearing it, is it?"

"Hmph."

With a frustrated sigh, the raven-haired man decided to give up for the time being and dropped the mallet for the second time in less than five minutes. Grateful for the shade he had been newly graced with, he said, "I suppose you finally dragged yourself out of bed to demand lunch?"

"Actually… Lunch has already been prepared."

Bewildered, he was about to correct her and say that lunch _hadn't_ been prepared on the account of him not even going within five feet of the cottage since he had left that morning, when he saw her hold up a picnic hamper.

Peeking out from behind the wicker basket with a proud grin, she said, "Weaving hats isn't the only thing I can do."

. . .

"Sweet honey white sangria… What are you scheming, witch? Inebriate me with wine to cast a spell on me once my guard is down?"

"Who's to say I haven't already?" she teased. He chuckled, a genuine smile on his lips. Lying on a blanket in the vast emerald sea of pasture, as the bright sun beamed down on them and enormous, snow-white clouds of fluff lazily bathed in an unbelievably clear, blue sky, Lelouch felt as if he had been reborn as a free, sinless man.

The voice that always rapped him smartly on the temple barking, "Back to work"? The incessant demands of diligence? The all-work-and-no-play attitude he had had for as long as he could remember? For once, he slammed the door on them and took his time enjoying the moment.

And he truly was.

From where it lay on his stomach, he rubbed the velvety petals of the browallia bluebell blossoms C2 had used to braid him an elegant crown. His head in her lap, the former prince couldn't help letting out a satisfied sigh. He was feeling so incredibly content. It was a wonderful sensation, lying here without any worries and anxieties, his appetite sated and-

"And there's the Nunnally smile," he heard. Opening his eyes, he looked up at the emerald-haired woman who was busy lacing flowers together. Confused, he asked, "The Nunnally smile?"

"The smile you always get whenever you're thinking of something featherbrained. Whenever you were with your sister, you would always grin as if you didn't have a brain. So I named it the Nunnally smile."

"… I hope she's doing well," he quietly said.

"You raised her well. Not to mention how she has the Knight of Zero as her guardian. The 100th Empress of Britannia is, and will always be, the safest person there is in the entire world. There's no need to fret."

"Do you think she's happy? I have nightmares from time to time. All that happens is Nunnally crying, and I can't seem to be able to do anything to ease her pain; it's as if I don't even exist. I-"

"Suzaku will make sure that she's happy. He promised you, didn't he?"

"… Do you really think she's happy?"

"I know so, boy. So don't frown; you're putting me off."

As he obediently ironed out his uneasy frown, she complained, "Just when I was in a pleasant mood what with the weather today… Nice job."

He studied her set the circlet of golden globes on her head, as she groused under her breath, when he said, "… C2."

"What is it?"

"Are you happy?"

"Happy? You're asking _me_ if _I'm happy_?"

He looked at her expectantly, and they stared at each other for some time before she granted him a stinging smack on the forehead.

"Fool."

"What?" he snapped, gingerly touching the quickly reddening sore.

"What do you think?"

The immortal's glare softened as he thought of the times when the witch had shed her veil of weariness, and of how she seemed to smile, if not laugh, genuinely. Light banter and good-natured teasing had snuck their way back into their conversations. And, although she poked fun at him on more than one occasion, he didn't particularly mind. He knew that she was only doing it because she cared enough about him and knew him well enough to jab at him, to tell him off, to joke with him. As a matter of fact, in a strange, inexplicable way, he actually _liked_ it. Because she was comfortable enough with him, because he was comfortable enough with her, because they were close and intimate enough to tease each other about old wounds. He liked being with her. In fact, as crazy as it sounded, he couldn't imagine life- no, that wasn't quite right. He _refused_ to imagine life without her. And maybe… _Just maybe_… She felt the same.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded, her eyes two golden slits narrowed with suspicion.

"… No exceptional reason," he eventually replied. Reluctantly tearing away his gentle gaze from her, the warlock looked out over the pasture and breathed, "I feel like this is the closest I'll ever get to heaven."

"Heaven?" she scoffed at his fanciful thought. "Then what am I? An angel? I thought I was a witch, boy."

Their lighthearted chat came to a screeching halt as a break filled with nothing but the nearly inaudible rustling of the trees and melodious singing of the nesting birds intruded. C2 could barely breathe; her heart was racing so quickly, and the knot in the pit of her stomach tightened as she watched his hand slowly reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. No mockery swam in his warm eyes as he softly asked, "Isn't that a halo you're wearing… Cecaniah?"

Time seemed to stop as they stared at each other. Closing his hand into a loose fist, he made to pull his outreached hand back, when she grabbed his wrist. His irises slid to her hands as he realized she was trembling. As he looked up into her wide golden eyes again, her grip tightened as she managed to choke out, "Say it again."

"… Say what?"

"My name. Say it again, exactly like the way you did just now. Say it again, Lelouch."

"Cecaniah," he murmured.

Her shocked gaze was unwavering and unblinking, and the raven-haired man wondered if he had done something wrong (you could never tell with her until it was too late), when she abruptly looked away and released his hand. Throwing it down so that it landed awkwardly on his chest, she veiled her eyes from him (C2, for as worldly as she was, didn't feel up to the task of convincingly lying to the man), she muttered, "Don't speak to anyone else in that kind of voice. _Ever_. Do you understand?"

"… Wh-"

"_Do you understand_?" she pressed. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to keep the welling of tears at bay.

"… Yes, I understand."

"Do you promise?" Her voice cracked and she cursed her weakness. Why was it that she was so vulnerable and weak in front of him?

"I do, but C2."

"… What is it?"

"What's wrong?"

She saw the concern written all over his face, and the fear within her grew. Fighting to maintain her chipping mask, she said, "… You're such a fool, Lelouch. Have you forgotten? I'm not an angel. I'm a witch."

And before he could break her walls any further, she shoved him off of her lap and rose. Briskly walking away from him, she blatantly ignored the way he was staring after her, and the way that her strange behavior was more than likely going to inspire an interrogation on his part, and ran away from the warlock. Frightened and shaken, she fled from what he had just done to her and the truth that she had always turned a blind eye and deaf ear to.

Lelouch sat up and stared at the deserted crown of flowers that had broken apart with downcast eyes. With a heavy sigh, he scooped up the scattered blossoms. Loosening his own crown, he began to mend the witch's fallen glory for her. When he finished, he slowly began to clean up with reluctance worming itself in his heart. It had been a wonderful feeling, being with her in a time and place that warranted no bloodshed or sacrifice. It had been a picturesque scene; he had been happy, she had been happy. It had been like heaven to be with her, but now… Now, it was time to return to reality. Now, it was time to return to the cold, hard facts that scolded him and warned him to guard his heart as the witch had done. It was all for his own good; he had no desire to suffer heartbreak. But all the same, he wished that the reality that showed him the truth, the truth of how, no matter how he wished it, she didn't, couldn't, _wouldn't_ return his feelings wasn't real.

Simply put, Lelouch vi Britannia was exiled to the dreaded friend zone, and doomed to spend the rest of eternity there.

Gloomy and dejected, he cleared away every single piece of evidence of what had probably been one of the happiest moments of his life and walked away, all the while cursing his foolishness.

The witch was not his.

And she would never be.

. . .

"C2."

"What is it?"

She was sitting on the kitchen counter, her legs crossed underneath the skirt of her lilac dress. Twirling strands of lustrous emerald hair around a slender finger, she casually observed the former prince dry the dishes from their dinner as her thoughts wandered. Having (up to a point) recovered from the scare the boy had given her in the afternoon, she had returned to her usual self, but it was growing more and more apparent as the night wore on that her companion wasn't as fortunate as her. So, when he finally began a conversation, she was slightly taken aback, but rewarded him with a neutral reply all the same.

"I want to show you something."

"What is it?"

"It's outside."

"Then bring it inside. I'm too comfortable to bother to move."

"I can't."

"You haven't even tried," she pointed out. The witch caught the way he stiffened at the accusation, but to his credit, her companion managed to tamp down his rising temper and civilly reply, "I couldn't even if I wanted to."

"What is it that you want to show me?"

"You'll find out once you come outside with me."

"So you think that I am going to follow you outside blindly, when I don't even know _why_ it is that you want me to follow you, _and_ it being pitch dark outside?"

"… Yes."

"Then you must have been outside under the sun for too long, boy, because I'm not-"

A small gasp interrupted her condemnation of him as he, after wiping his hands on the dishcloth, strode over to where she was and (quite casually) picked her up.

"What do you think you're doing?" she snarled as they moved towards the door.

"I don't have the patience to further persuade your stubbornness to comply."

"That's because your persuasion skills are incompetent."

"Then shall I persuade you?"

"Try me."

Without warning, he came to a stop and stood still on the porch. Grabbing his shoulder out of surprise, she looked up at him by the yellow light of the cottage from behind. The immortal woman cursed in her head as she scrambled to calm her fluttering heart; she had become acutely aware of just how close their faces were to each other. How close their lips were. If she were to reach up only a little more, then their lips would meet, and-

"I will, if you close your eyes."

She nearly gave him an uppercut then and there. What was wrong with him? Demanding that she come outside when it was far into the night, dragging her out when she refused, ordering that she close her eyes. Just who the hell did he think he-

"I'll bake you pizza if you do."

Now _this_ was interesting.

Adopting a businesslike tone of voice, she immediately asked, "What toppings? And how many?"

"Whatever you want, as long we have the ingredients." Lelouch sighed; he hoped this was going to be worth the trouble he was diving into.

"And the quantity?"

"Three?"

"_Three_? You expect to win me over with _three_ pizzas?"

"… Six?"

"Ten, and you have yourself a deal."

"Seven," he desperately haggled.

"Ten," she replied obstinately. Amethysts glimmered in the near-dark as he calculated his chances of lowering her condition. Stifling the urge to sigh, he dejectedly declared his defeat.

"Fine. Ten."

C2 smiled, pleased with herself. As he stepped off of the veranda, she closed her eyes and rested her chin on his broad shoulder before saying, "I'd have done it for three pans, you know."

"God dammit, woman."

She giggled, and the hairs on his nape rose as he felt her warm breath tickle his neck. Flushing, the young man made an effort to concentrate on traversing the countryside with caution. As he stepped off of the gravel pathway and onto the soft grass, he heard her question, "Where are we going? You're not planning on selling me to human traffickers by any chance, are you?"

"I don't possess the ability to endure the hell you would put me through if I tried, witch. So no, I'm not planning on making you into a slave."

"Then whe-"

"I promise you you'll like it. But for now, be quiet; it's dark and I don't want to trip over anything."

"It'd be just like you to," she muttered. But all the same, she fell silent and they travelled in the dark mutely.

Wrapping her arms around his neck securely, the emerald-haired woman sighed. What in the world could he possibly have to show her? But more importantly, why was he doing this? It was obviously a present for her since he had told her that she would like it, but why would the boy give her a gift? Had he done something wrong? Perhaps he had accidentally torn Cheese-kun. But no; she had made sure that he was safe from harm. She had left him on their bed, sitting between their pillows as-

_"It appears to me that your Emperor, who was once attracted to logic, order, and organization, has now thrown away all of those things so as to romance you…"_

C2 felt her cheeks grow warm and she severely reprimanded herself. She was better than that! She was better than that, she was above gullible, unworldly schoolgirls who thought of nothing but boys and their very own fairy-tale endings. She was better than that… Wasn't she?

**(A/N: By the way, this is your choice, but I was listening to 'Ma Belle Evangeline' while writing this. If listening to music is your thing, well, the previously mentioned song goes well with the scene (in my own opinion))**

"Are you alright?"

"What?"

"You were grimacing. Are you ill again? Do you want to lie down?"

"… No, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Why are you so concerned?" she interrogated distrustfully. His voice became defensive as he replied, "I just don't want you to throw up on me again."

"But why not? It was so funny seeing your face every time you were covered in vomit."

"I know you're lying about finding it funny. You were barely conscious then, witch. You couldn't even drink water without my help."

"Hmph. Are we there yet? I want my pizza."

"We're her- _Don't open your eyes yet_."

"There's no need to get so excited," she growled. "I'm right here in your arms."

"Don't ruin this for me, C2."

"I'll see what I can do. But why can't I…"

He had set her down gently and she felt a hard surface underneath her. Mystified, she tried to guess what she was sitting on. It was when he guided her hands that it dawned on her what it was that he was showing her.

"It's a swing," she said, taken aback. "It wasn't here when we first came here."

"No, it wasn't."

Opening her eyes, golden irises blinked at the man who was kneeling before her.

"I made it. For you."

"… Why?"

Lelouch was about to answer, when, suddenly embarrassed by his random gesture of kindness, paused and ducked his head to scrutinize the blades of grass that suddenly had an aura of great importance. Clenching his hand into a tight fist, he mustered enough courage to finally explain, "… You told me how, when you were younger, you used to wish that someone would build a swing for you because you believed that swings were how people flew up to heaven. And we had a surplus of wood, I needed something to keep my hands busy, so in my free time, I-"

"You built me a swing. You remembered?"

He nodded and she hurriedly tore her eyes away from him. She was scared. She was scared of the way he was kneeling in front of her, she was scared of the way her heart was quivering, she was scared of the way he was treating her, how he was doing all of these things for her, how it was making her realize how much she truly-

The idiot. _The idiot!_ How could she possibly remember something like a whimsical wish she had had when she was a little girl? How could she remember a desire she had had before the era of her cursed immortality set in? She had merely fed him a lie that time, a fabrication born of boredom and mischief, of curiosity, when they were together during the Black Rebellion. She had only wanted to see what his reaction would be. It had only been an experiment for fun, it wasn't supposed to make her short of breath and her knees weak. But now, nearly half a decade later, it had done just that. Now, nearly half a decade later, the fool had granted a wish of hers that hadn't even existed in the first place.

And she had _just_ gotten over the shock he had given her that afternoon.

All around them, in the green pasture and under the light of the motherly full moon, fireflies seemed to dance with fairies to an orchestra of crickets and bullfrogs. The long emerald grass waved to and fro, as if they enjoyed spectating the secret ceremony of summer pixies, and before her… Before her was a man who was probably one of the most foolish people she had the fortune to ever meet.

"Was I right?"

She returned her attention to him, and when she saw the Britannian's expression, she felt a bubble of laughter fight its way through the impenetrable wave of sentiment surging through her and up to her throat. He looked so frightened, so lost, as if he couldn't quite figure out if he had made a mistake or if he had done well. He looked so innocent, so pure. So kind. So beautiful.

"You were right," she answered softly. The worried frown and furrowed brows smoothed into a proud smile as he triumphantly smirked, "I told you you would like it."

"But is it safe? What if the rope snaps, and I-"

An ear-splitting crack and a glorious shower of bright colors interrupted the witch, and the couple looked up in bewilderment. As more and more lights were sent up to paint the inky heavens, the astonished warlock murmured, "Fireworks…"

"Did you plan this?"

"N… No."

"It must be that festival in the village."

At the mention of the hamlet's peculiar tradition, Lelouch turned from the spectacular pyrotechnics above to the emerald-haired woman who was busy watching the sparks with wide eyes.

"Speaking of the festival… Has anything strange happened to you because of it?"

Fragments of memories of the gypsy tarot reader and the bizarre farm boy flashed through mind as she slowly met his gaze. Making sure her thoughts were unreadable even to him, the immortal carefully lied, "No. Why?"

"… Nothing. I just felt as if I were walking into a trap when I went to town."

"It's not as if it's the first time we've gone to that festival."

"_I've_ never been before. You, Sayoko, Jeremiah, and Anya have. But I haven't."

"Well, it's not as if you're a stranger to fairs or meddling matchmakers. Besides, who would set a trap for you?"

Having nothing to say, Lelouch returned to watching the fireworks again, completely missing the way the witch, having grown tired of the rather frivolous display, was regarding him with a contemplative eye.

Earlier, he had wanted to know if she were happy, and she had responded by hitting him on the head. Little did he know that all afternoon (and well into the evening), she had ruminated over her answer. At first, she had been frightened, but (admittedly) after she had come to accept it, the fear had rapidly melted into awe. So she was still capable of feeling such an emotion… It was strange realizing that she was… That she was…

"… Yes."

"What?" He immediately looked at her, caught unawares by the sudden, out-of-the-blue word she had thrown at him.

"My answer to your question from earlier. Yes, I am."

"… Oh," he said dumbly.

"That's all you have to say?"

He was silent for some time, and when he spoke, his words were nearly lost amidst the thunderous explosions, but the witch heard him all the same.

"I'm glad you're happy."

She feigned ignorance, but the second he turned his attention from her to the lights above, she smiled.

'I'm glad you're glad, boy.'

And the immortal man and woman watched together quietly, she seated on his (surprisingly) sturdy gift and he kneeling before her, but both smiling.

. . .

"Oh, look at the fireworks, Suzaku!"

"They're beautiful, Nunnally."

Dressed in a cotton shift cut from celadon cotton, the young Empress blinked up at the brilliant, star-studded sky. Her smile seemed to grow with each burst of sparkles, and the corners of her Knight's lips turned up gently. This was how it was supposed to be. Everything _he_ had done was for this, for Nunnally's smile.

Everything.

She turned to him and took his hand. Pointing to the heavens, she excitedly called for his attention. "Look, Suzaku. That one's shaped as a flower!"

"It's a beautiful world we live in, isn't it, Nunnally?"

Beaming at him, she nodded and the pair watched the fabulous display of lights. Tightening his grips on her small, delicate hand, the Knight of Zero made his promise by the explosions of, not war, but peace.

'I swear to you I'll protect her, Lelouch. Always. With every breath I take, I will guard your treasure. So that your sacrifices won't have been in vain.'

And so, the Princess and the Knight watched the fireworks alongside the Witch and the Warlock.

**To my Lovely Lamperouge: God dammmit, Lelouch, why didn't you just kiss her then? You were freaking kneeling in front of her, dude. It was the perfect timing. This is why you're in the friend zone! Come on, it's time for you to step up as a man and stake your claim. Let's go, Lelouch, I believe in you!**

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed, reviews are greatly appreciated, and I do hope you favorite/follow this story if you haven't already (and a great many thanks to those who have). Until next time then~**


	6. The Feeling That Doesn't Reach

**Disclaimer: Code Geass is not my property.**

Chapter Six

"Do you want help?"

Lelouch nearly fell off of the ladder out of startlement. Scrabbling for the window's ledge, he held on tightly with white knuckles as he looked up at the witch with disbelief. Was she really offering to do _work_? _C2_ was willing to do manual labor? Since when? And why? Maybe this was a trick, and she was trying to see how fast he would fall for-

"Do you?" she questioned, her voice laced with impatience.

"If I say yes, are you going to?"

"Depends on what you want me to do," she replied, indifferently leaning half of her body out of the second story window. Level with the tall man for once, she casually reached out and wiped away a splatter of whitewash that had smeared on his cheekbone. As he flinched at her sudden touch (which was surprisingly gentle), she flicked the paint off of her fingers and asked, "What would you have me do if I helped you?"

"… Grab a paintbrush," he managed to choke out through his shock. Gold narrowed into slits as she suspiciously said, "You're not going to make me climb up a ladder, are you? I know all about boys, Lelouch, and I'm not going to let you peek up my skirt."

Flushing violently, he indignantly sputtered, "I'm- I'm not that kind of person."

"Oh, that's right. Stealing glances up a girl's skirt isn't enough for you, is it? _You_ are an entirely different class of-"

"Are you going to help me or not?"

Flashing a brilliant smile that clearly informed him of how amused she was, she told him she would as soon as she changed.

"You're _still _wearing your nightgown?"

"What do you mean still? I just woke up, because unlike _some_ people, I like to enjoy my mornings and _avoid waking up at the break of dawn_."

"There's a lot of work to be done."

"You know, you don't have to be _this_ diligent. I don't mind living somewhere like this; I've eaten and slept in places far worse. And I'm sure Jeremiah and Sayoko wouldn't begrudge you a chance to lounge in bed all day in the company of a beautiful woman."

His pale cheeks reddened even more and his immortal companion laughed mischievously. Patting him on the head, she purred, "I'll be out in fifteen minutes. You can hold back for fifteen more minutes, can't you?"

"I've given up on trying to have a normal conversation with you," he muttered. Shaking his head at the brazen ways of the witch, he began to make his way to the ground when he heard, "Lelouch."

"What is it?"

"Come here. I have something to give you."

"Give it to me when you come outside."

"I have to give it to you _now_. Come up."

Heaving a heavy sigh, the raven-haired man retraced his steps to the top again. When he reached the last tread, he mustered all the patience he could spare and (to his credit, politely) inquired, "What is it that you want to give me?"

"Close your eyes."

"C2, what-"

"Just close your eyes before I push the ladder off of the house."

Knowing her character, the witch would unquestionably keep her word on her threat. And so, Lelouch, who had no particular desire or plans to break any of his bones, obediently closed his eyes. As he floated in inky oblivion, his mind wandered to the possibilities of what it was that the witch was so eager to bestow upon him. A smack on the head? But no; he hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, everything he had done with her, to her, near her, had all been punctually and correctly done in an orderly and harmless fashion. So no, it couldn't possibly be a swat to his head. So what-

What about a kiss?

That had been the last thing she had- Okay, well, maybe that wasn't the _last_ thing she had given him… But it had been the first when they had reunited after his father (he repressed the urge to scowl at the remembrance of the infuriatingly selfish man) had dared to subdue Zero.

Could it be a kiss?

If it was… On the off chance that what she wanted to give him was, in fact, a kiss (though only the heavens knew why he was even entertaining this possibility out of the thousands clambering about in his head), and she did give him a kiss, he didn't quite trust himself to keep holding onto the ladder. He'd probably let go out of surprise and tumble down the approximate 15 feet gap between the second story window to the hard ground below. He'd probably break every single one of the 206 bones in his body, but strangely, the danger and harm the kiss would blow down on him didn't really concern him as much as the fact that _she had kissed him_.

As he continued to ruminate on the possibility, he began to become alarmed (just a touch, but the panic was there all the same). If she did kiss him, then what was _he _supposed to do? Was he supposed to kiss her back? Did he even have the nerve and ability to return the gesture? And how long would it last? Was he supposed to close his eyes, or keep them open? And what about the aftermath? After it ended, was it his turn to kiss her, or was there something else that-

"You forgot to wear a mask, you fool. Don't you know that paint has noxious fumes?"

Eyes snapping open, the immortal stared at the mask dangling from one of the emerald-haired woman's slender digits as she lectured him on using common sense. Little did she know (or suspect) that all was in vain, as her scolding was lost to him. The warlock paid no mind to the witch's chiding as he struggled to swallow his disappoint- Disappointment? Why was he feeling disappointment? If anything, he should be _glad_ that she didn't kiss him. He hadn't fallen from the ladder, _and_ had been saved from any potentially awkward situations he in no way was equipped to navigate through (at least, without making himself look stupid). It was a good thing that she hadn't kissed him. Not that she ever was going to in the first-

"What's wrong?"

"What?"

"You look like you were just punched in the stomach," she said.

"Do I really?" he muttered. "How strange."

"You're the strange one. Take it already."

"I'm tired of masks," he grumbled. Unimpressed with the way he was dragging his feet, she threw the cloth at his face and told him, "Then you can die from intoxication for all I care" before gliding into their bedroom. As she closed the door behind her, her partner mumbled, "Paint's not the one intoxicating me. And a mask isn't going to protect me from the true culprit either."

Taken aback by the words that had unwittingly flown out of his mouth, he blinked in surprise. Where had _that_ come from? … Well, it didn't matter. There was an enormous amount of work to do today before the sun set and he was going to get through it no matter what obstacles appeared in his path. Willing his mind to forget the poisonous hope that had been coursing through his veins just moments before, he moved towards the ground. When both feet were planted solidly on earth, the flustered young man took a moment to calm down. Running his hand through his hair, he thought, _'Don't do this to me, C2. The last thing I need is to be distracted by disappointment and irrational thoughts.'_

And as he tied the mask into place, he set to work.

. . .

"I have a sin to confess, Cheese-kun."

C2 glanced at the reflection of her beloved plushie which was docilely sitting on the (rather comfortable) rocking chair. Delicately rubbing rose-tinted lip gloss on her lips, she closed the cap of the small bottle with a sharp click and corrected herself with, "Well, technically, it's not a sin. But it feels like one."

Reaching behind her, she began to tie her long, emerald hair into a neat ponytail as she continued to explain.

"Apparently, the next thing at the top of the boy's never-ending to-do list is to repaint the cottage. But the schmuck that he is, he forgot to take a mask with him. I was going to give him one, just like the nice and thoughtful person that I am should. But I also wanted some fun out of it; I wanted to scare him a little, so I told him to close his eyes. But when he did…"

She paused in her story-telling while she carefully straightened the collar of the Alice-blue dress shirt she had 'borrowed' from said halfwit. Satisfied, she picked up where she left off.

"I nearly kissed him, Cheese-kun. What am I going to do with myself? I thought I was better than that, but all I've been thinking about for the past few days is what it would feel like if he kissed me, and… I can't seem to stop."

Flopping onto the edge of the bed, she picked up her smiling doll and sighed. "What's wrong with me, Cheese-kun? Why can't I stop thinking about him? Why can't I stop caring so much about what he thinks of me, and how I look and act in front of him? I've lived for so long, and I've gone through so much, and yet… _This _is what I'm reduced to."

Sulking over the way she had recently been behaving, C2 gave him the amorphous plaything a tight hug. The murk of worried silence enveloped the room until she broke the quiet with a muffled question.

"Why can't the idiot just kiss me?"

Cheese-kun merely smiled, and she pulled a face at his unhelpful advice.

"It doesn't work that way. _I _was always doing the kissing in our relationship. Now I want _him_ to kiss _me_. I could kiss him for all I cared, and he could still not return my feelings, whatever it is that they are. Do you understand why it's imperative that _he_ does the kissing?"

And he only smiled.

"Do you think he'll ever give me a kiss, Cheese-kun?"

Smile.

Fed up, she set him down (somewhat more rougher than her usual treatment of the prized mascot) on her pillow and stormed out of the room, all the while darkly muttering under her breath, "What the hell is wrong with all of the men in this house?"

. . .

"C2, we-"

"Lelouch, I want to make a snowman."

Brows furrowing in bewilderment, the raven-haired man watched as the witch stalked towards the small pyramid of neatly-stacked paint buckets. As she grabbed one of the six containers that made up the bottom layer and knocked over the entire pile, he slowly inhaled once, and then slowly exhaled once to rally the courage and patience to find out what was wrong.

"C2, it's the middle of August. How do you expect to make a snowman when we're currently in a heat wa-"

"You're being too narrow-minded, " she growled as she forcefully opened a can. The second he saw her use violent (and rather physical) means, sirens immediately went off in Lelouch's head. Concerned, he (prudently) came closer to interfere and put an end to her rampage. Speaking in a peaceful manner so as not to anger her any further, he slowly asked, "How do you suggest we build a…."

He fell silent as she upended the entire contents of a very full bucket of whitewash on his head. As it slipped and slithered into his hair and clothes, he internally sighed. Why had he not seen this coming?

C2, obviously pleased with her work, triumphantly watched as the warlock cautiously and carefully wiped the paint from his eyes, mouth, and nose (well, his face in general), she declared, "Now we have a snowman. Albeit a scrawny, underweight, and lanky snowma- Snow_boy_."

Picking up a thin paintbrush, the immortal woman dabbed at the excess pigments on his cheek and began to mark fine, white lines on the house. Her carefree humming was interrupted by a (completely unexpected) response from the paint-drenched man standing frozen besides her.

"Having only one snowman is lonely, C2. We need at least two. I say we next make one of a witch."

At his suggestion, the hairs rose on the back of her neck. Her pride kicked in as she slowly set down the brush, and, before he could make any good on his proposal, the emerald-haired woman darted away. Sprinting around the corner of the cottage, she kidnapped a half-full bucket of paint for necessary arsenal and escaped. When all was silent, she peeked around the corner, only for her smug smile to melt into a frown.

… Where had he-

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she felt something incredibly _wet_ and incredibly _cold_ spread on her back. Immediately twisting around, she glowered as her suspicions were confirmed.

White paint.

Why that little-

"An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth."

"This is your shirt," she told him, "Not mine."

And with a smirk, she pitched the can of whitewash at him. Before running away, she saw him shy away from the vicious attack and couldn't help but laugh.

The boy had no idea who he had messed with.

He would come to know soon enough.

. . .

C2 struggled to stifle giggles as she hid behind the shed. She had mercilessly turned her companion into the abominable snowman, and it pleased her immensely. Of course, she herself wasn't quite free of paint (in fact, parts of her legs and arms had been splattered with white, not to mention how her back, cheeks, and neck had become targets). As it happened, there had been instances when she hadn't dodged quickly enough, and these occurrences (though they were rare) had to be paid with bleached hair. But did she care?

Surprisingly, very little.

More importantly, was she winning?

Oh, certainly. It was the inevitable.

Tightening her grip on the whitewash-soaked sponge in her hand, she scrambled up from the grass to deliver the final blow to her opponent, when a colorless blur sprung out of nowhere and tackled her to the ground. With a gasp, her weapon went flying into the air in a beautiful arc, but there was no time to worry about the loss. She was tumbling down a hill far too fast to fret over her weapon-less demise.

When they finally came to a stop, and the dust had settled, it dawned on the witch how out of breath and excited she had gotten over children's play and couldn't help but find their immaturity ridiculously funny. As she burst into laughter, she heard her partner chuckle from underneath her. She desperately tried to catch her breath, but the entire paint-war dissolved any resolve into hilarity.

How long had it been since she had done something so lighthearted and blithe? And when had been the last time she had laughed like this? She couldn't even remember it was so long ago. It was so exhilarating to…

All trains of thought came screeching to a halt as she caught the way he was looking at her. The way he was looking at her… It was the exact same as when they had been in the pasture together yesterday and he had called her by her true name.

He rose up onto his elbow, inching their faces even closer. He tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear, and she lay perfectly still as they moved closer to each heart was pounding and she felt lightheaded as she felt his lips graze hers. Not even daring to breathe, she waited for his lips, for the kiss, for everything that she had been waiting for for so long. Please, just this one time… Just this one, please-

"Hello? Is there anyone home? C2? Are you home?"

Gold clashed with amethyst as the pair was brutally tossed out of their own world. Frustration welled up inside of the emerald-haired woman, and she dearly wished that the heavens would curse the oblivious interrupter (sadly, it was to no avail). Biting down vexation with an irritated huff, she whispered, "Stay here. I'll send them away."

Careful not to touch him (for more his sake than hers; C2 felt that if she were to lay even a finger on him (on anyone, really), she didn't trust herself to resist the urge to lash out with a slap), she rose and was about to give their visitor a piece of her mind greeting, she felt a hand grab her wrist.

No way… Was he going to-

"… Be careful."

"… When have I not been?" she replied. And, slipping out of his grasp, she left to rid them of their unforeseen caller.

. . .

Letting himself fall back onto the ground, Lelouch sighed as his mind wandered to reminisce on what had just happened. Er… What just _almost_ happened.

Her lips had been so soft, and she had looked so beautiful, and it had felt so right as he was about to ki-

_**NO.**_

Absolutely not. They weren't in that kind of relationship, and even if _he_ wanted something of the sort, it was quite obvious what would happen if he dared to make such a move. Besides. He didn't even _want_ that kind of relationship with her in the first place… Did he?

Well, it didn't matter.

Because it would never happen again.

. . .

"Holy- What happened to you, C2?"

"What do you want, Alexei?" she demanded, her voice frosty with annoyance.

"I wasn't barging in on anything, was I?"

"_What do you want, boy_?"

"I'm sorry, I'll make this really quick."

She sighed out of exasperation. The boy had already upset her with the intrusion, and now, he was talking in that round-about fashion that always made her cross. If he didn't hurry it up, she-

"Are you Britannian, C2?"

"Why should I have to tell you where it is that I come from?"

"Then… Have you ever been to Britannia?"

"Why?"

"Um, well, I realized the other day I forgot to ask you something extremely important, and-"

"Just tell me what it is, Alexei, before I throw you out."

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. So… It's like this; for over ten years, I've been looking for someone. I have literally gone from continent to continent, hoping to find her, and I was wondering if you'd seen her by any chance."

She said nothing and he hastily reached into pocket of his leather vest.

"This is a picture of her. She should be 17 years old right now, so obviously, she's not going to look exactly like this, but…"

The immortal stared at the old and faded photograph. Though it was aged and worn, she could still make out a young a boy and girl happily playing in a field of heather. The camera had managed to capture the keen and teasing rubies of the young boy as he tickled the even younger girl, but it wasn't the boy who had captured her attention. It was the other child.

"C2, please, if you've seen my sister anywhere, even if it was a long time ago, could you please tell-"

"Come back tomorrow, Alexei."

"T-tomorrow?"

"Come back tomorrow, and we'll sit down and discuss your sister. Right now, I'm too tired, and I need some time to think. So tomorrow."

"I- Of course. What time should I come back?"

"Early morning. Dawn would be ideal."

"Dawn?"

"It's time for me to leave. To return home."

"O-oh. Well, I'll drop by at dawn then."

She wearily nodded and the boy turned to leave. She watched him walk down the dirt path towards the gates of the orchard and was just about to return to her companion (who was more than likely waiting for her), when he stopped just before the bend and looked back.

"C2."

"What is it?"

"Thank you."

"I haven't even done anything, you fool."

"Still… Thank you."

"… You're welcome."

And then, he left.

Alone at last, the witch sighed. Things had just gotten immensely complicated. Why, out of all the people she could have possibly met at the village, did she have to have met _him_?

. . .

"What's wrong?"

C2 had made her way back to the boy, who she found to be standing still with his arms folded across his chest. The way he was motionless and silent bothered her, as the last time she had seen him, he had been laughing and lying on the ground. Why was he just standing there? What was he looking at that it would make him-

"I've been preparing Dion so that we can increase our productivity rate," he began.

"And?"

"That includes preparing the orange grove."

"I know that, but why are you-"

"It's currently August, and the first frost this year is predicted to come early mid-September."

"So you're trying to decide what to do with this sapling."

They studied the baby tree spinelessly drooping in front of them. Its leaves were small (much _too_ small) with the edges slightly browning. The limbs of the seedling were thin and frail, and it looked as if it would fall over at the slightest breeze. It was feeble, it was weak. It was going to die.

"… It would be more advantageous for us all if we culled it. It's not strong enough to survive the coming frost, and-"

"It's going to be over a month before the first frost is even supposed to-"

"It's not going to strengthen in time," he countered. "And what happens in the case the frost comes early?"

She glanced at the poor tree and quietly asked, "… Have you no pity, Lelouch?"

"It's an orange tree, C2. It would be better if we gave the nutrients to other-"

"Then I'll take responsibility for it."

The man and woman both were taken aback by her declaration, but C2 firmly stood by her claim. As strange as it sounded, the seedling reminded her of herself, and she'd be damned if she were going to let 'survival of the fittest' steal a life that only needed a little help (okay, so maybe a tree's 'life' couldn't quite compare to a human's, but at the moment, that was irrelevant).

"I'll take responsibility for it. I'll take care of the sapling you wanted to cull, and I'll show you that some things just need an extra chance."

Slipping the trowel out from his grasp, the emerald-haired woman crouched near the shivering plant. Sinking the spade into the soil, she began to dig all around it, when a hand reached out and gently took the tool from her. She looked up in surprise as the man who so wanted to uproot the tree seconds before wordlessly hollow the seedling out from the ground.

"… You're not doing this alone," he simply explained.

"You wanted to cull-"

"Maybe I changed my mind."

A smile slowly but surely grew on her lips, and he said (a tad uncomfortably), "What is it?"

"You're not one to change your mind easily."

"… Maybe I'm changing.," he mumbled, embarrassed by the way she was looking at him.

"Maybe…"

"It's not as if I could have remained the same after everything I've gone through. I know I'm a different man from when we first met, it's obvious that-"

"Lelouch."

"What is it?"

When there was no reply, he stopped digging and looked up, only to be surprised by the light in her eyes. They held so much emotion… The complete opposite of her apathetic and icy gaze when they had been formally introduced to each other for the first time. And that was when he truly came to realize that maybe he wasn't the only person who had been effected by their journey together.

"… I need to know something important, and I need you to tell me the truth."

"… What is it?" As they stared at each other, Lelouch couldn't help but marvel at the woman in front of him. She had been forced through so much pain, through unimaginable torture, and yet, she still knew how to laugh and smile. She was so strong, so perfect. So beautiful…

As if on its own, his hand reached up to lightly brush her cheek, and before he knew it, he was leaning over her and she was lying on the ground under him. Question died in her throat as she stared up at him. What was going on? What… How- Why were they like this right now? And what was he going to do nex-

"… What is it that you want to ask me?"

"… Lelouch, what am I to you?"

As he stared at her in surprise, she tried to hide the trembling of her voice from him as she said, "I need to know what I am to you, and what we're going to become in the future, for both my sake and…"

"Am I supposed to answer with what you are right now or with what I would like for you to be?"

"… What would you like for me to be?" she questioned hoarsely. She faltered as he leaned closer. Closing her eyes, she begged to the heavens above. Please, please, _please,_ just this once, please, let everything go without interruption. For five seconds in her life, let everything be perfect, just-

Lelouch hesitated.

Yes, their lips were less than an inch away from each other, and yes, there was something in his head ordering him to let everything go and make the remaining space disappear, and yes, it seemed as if everything in his life had been leading up to this one moment, but… But did _she_ want it? And was he even sure that the consequences of him kissing her was what he wanted? What did he even want? How could he not know what he wanted? What he wanted… What he, Lelouch vi Britannia, wanted was… It was…

C2's heart sunk and shattered as she felt him pull away.

"… You… You are the person I trust most in the entire world. You're my accomplice. My partner, my equal and confidante. That's what you are to me. You're my friend, and I would like for you to continue being so."

"… Is that all you have to say?"

Suddenly, Lelouch found it incredibly difficult to breathe. His chest tightened as his hair obscured his torn and pained expression. Struggling to rid himself of the unbearable agony tormenting his heart, his nails dug into his palm and he heard himself harshly choke out a rough, "… Yes."

"… I see."

Rising stiffly, the witch flatly told him, "Then I'll be going inside."

And before he could even say or do anything, she briskly walked away from him and her broken heart.

. . .

"He's never going to kiss me, Cheese-kun. He doesn't _want_ to kiss me. Why? Am I not pretty enough for him? I know he doesn't hate me, or else he'd have separated from me a long time ago. Maybe it's his sexuality? He _is_ heterosexual, isn't he? … Or maybe he's in love with someone else, maybe he's stuck on Kallen, or maybe he's decided to be a _pedophile _out of all things and wait for Anya to become legal, or maybe-"

What was wrong with him? Rather, what was wrong with _her_? Why was she acting like this? She had lived over thirty times his lifetime, she was mature, she was sophisticated, she was completely above the mind frame of boy-crazy teenage girls, and yet…

_Oh._

_ Oh, that was why she-_

"Cheese-kun."

Picking up the plushie from where it lay on her stomach, she raised him up above her so that she was eye-to-eye with her grinning confidante.

"… I think I'm in love with him."

The words tasted strange in her mouth, as she said, "… I think… I'm in _love_ with him."

Blinking out of surprise, she glanced into his rainbow-shaped eyes and answered his friendly, static smile with a bitter smirk of her own.

"I, Cecaniah Corabelle, am in love with Lelouch vi Britannia."

It sounded so ridiculously right. The words resounded within her, and she was made aware that this, that those ten words, were the completely and utterly undeniable truth. And now, with those ten words, everything about her, everything, her perspective, her views, her personality, her life, _everything_, had changed. With only ten words, the very essence of the witch known as C2 had been transformed. It was ridiculous, it was incredible, it was… It was _love_.

And Cheese-kun only smiled with silence as he witnessed the paramount change of her life.

Hugging him, she buried her face into his soft belly. Desperately searching for some form of warmth and comfort, any kind of stability, as everything about her life and person fell down around her ears.

"I'm in love, Cheese-kun, and I don't know what to do with a man who doesn't love me back. Maybe I should leave him; I'm sure I'd be able to get over him eventual- _No_. I'm certain that I'd forget him with enough time. I'm not just saying it."

Silence. Smile.

"… But I don't want to leave him. Because I love him."

Smile. Silence.

"I love someone, Cheese-kun, and even if it hurts, I'm going to continue to stay by his side. Because I love him. And that's that."

And for the first time in what seemed like half of an eternity, C2 resigned herself to the role of, not the witch, but of the lovelorn maiden.

**A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated (only constructive criticism/encouragement please).**


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